


The Wounded Rose Job

by beckettemory



Series: Sticks and Stones [4]
Category: Leverage
Genre: Additional Warnings Apply, Adoption, Angst with a Happy Ending, Case Fic, Child Abuse, Domestic Violence, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Families of Choice, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Injury, Kid Fic, Meet the Family, Original Character Death(s), Other, Platonic Parenting, Post-Canon, Queerplatonic Relationships, Rewrite, See chapter notes for warnings, autistic characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-27
Updated: 2020-02-07
Packaged: 2021-01-04 07:35:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 54,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21193976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beckettemory/pseuds/beckettemory
Summary: Sixteen years ago, an angry young man joined the Army, foolhardy and just trying to escape his home life. Ten years ago, he deserted his post and left his family in the lurch. Seven years ago, his family was shaken by a horrible loss. Five years ago, a little girl was born. Four days ago, another loss hit the family, leaving the little girl without many allies.That young man, now older and finally happy, doesn’t know it yet, but he’s been ready to be a father for a while. The problem is making it happen.(A rewrite of a story of the same name, with updated writing and a more complex plot, see fic notes in chapter 1 for more details)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a rewrite of a story by the same name! The original has been moved out of the series and renamed to "The Wounded Rose Job (Original Version)," but is still available to read! (I've been working on this rewrite off and on for two years lmaooooo)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings in this chapter for: (offscreen) death by drug overdose, mentions of alcohol abuse and alcoholism, deadnaming (not applied to a trans character), trauma reactions, grief reactions, references to child death, mentions of parental and sibling death, references to past child abuse

_ All my nightmares escaped my head  
_ _Bar the doors, please don’t let them in_

“Welcome Home”—Radical Face

“You hit me with a blue shell and you fuckin’ _ die, _man,” Eliot snarled as he started the final lap of Rainbow Road.

“Maybe if you weren’t in first I wouldn’t need to,” Hardison replied calmly as he overtook Bowser to take third place, his thumbs deftly guiding his kart around a sharp bend. He had to have been cheating somehow.

Eliot just growled in response.

Hardison hummed as he overtook Toad into second place with half of the final lap remaining. “You wanna make this more interesting?” he asked.

“What did you have in mind?” Eliot asked, wincing as he nearly skidded off the track at a hairpin turn.

“Loser tells a secret,” Hardison said.

Eliot snorted. “What are you, five? Secrets,” he mumbled, but he didn’t say no.

A few seconds later, neck and neck with Hardison, Eliot crossed the finish line first and whooped triumphantly.

“That’s what I’m _ talkin’ about!” _he hollered, jabbing at Hardison with his controller.

“Shoulda known you were a sore winner,” Hardison complained, wrenching the controller out of Eliot’s grip.

“Pay up, man,” Eliot said, shoving at Hardison.

“You didn’t even say we had a deal,” Hardison said.

“What, you welching?”

“Nuh-uh, no I am not,” Hardison said, putting the controllers on the coffee table. He looked around furtively. “Parker come in?”

Eliot shrugged. “Not that I heard.”

“Okay, then, uh,” Hardison began, shuffling in his seat a little before he turned conspiratorially on the couch towards Eliot and leaned in. “I’m gonna ask her to marry me.”

A derisive laugh bubbled up out of Eliot before he could stop it. “You what? Come on, dude, she ain’t gonna say yes. It’s _ Parker. _She ain’t the romantic type.”

Hardison shook his head. “Nah, it’s not gonna be romantic. Purely platonic marriage. For tax benefits.”

“You don’t pay taxes,” Eliot said dismissively, but Hardison exclaimed indignantly.

“Don’t pay—of _ course _ I pay taxes,” he said incredulously. “I’m a criminal, yeah, but I grew up in the foster system going to public school and most’a my job is hacking into government servers, which _ run _ on taxes. I pay taxes on all _ seventy-four _of the aliases I’ve made for the five of us. Including yours. You’re welcome.”

Eliot scoffed and stood up, looking around for his shoes. “Don’t tell Parker you pay taxes when you propose.”

“Why’s that?”

“She’ll think you’re an upstanding citizen and then she _ definitely _ won’t say yes.”

Hardison lobbed a throw pillow at him.

“Knock it off,” Eliot growled, blocking the pillow.

“Last time I ever try to tell you somethin’,” Hardison grumbled.

“Lord make it so,” Eliot said, folding his hands and raising his eyes to the heavens, then dropped the act and tipped the armchair up to look for his shoes under it.

“Are you leaving?” Hardison asked. “Come on, one more round.”

“No can do. Got a late assignment to finish and send off,” Eliot explained, finally finding one of his boots around the far side of the coffee table and then the other next to the entertainment center.

Hardison started patting his pockets and the couch around him. “What time is it?”

Eliot shoved his feet into his boots, not bothering to tie them properly, and pulled his phone out of his pocket to see. “Almost midnight,” he said, and as he shoved his phone back in his pocket he got a weird feeling. Like all the hair on the back of his neck stood up and he couldn’t draw a full breath in. He blinked a few times and it was gone.

Hardison was looking at him weird. “You good?”

Eliot let out a breath. “Yeah, just trying to, uh, remember where I left my textbook,” he lied.

“Alright,” Hardison said, sounding unconvinced. When Eliot headed for the door Hardison cleared his throat. “We’re meeting at the warehouse down on 6th at two tomorrow to scope out the bank.”

Eliot nodded. “Yeah,” he said, and opened the glass door out onto the landing above their briefing room.

“’Night, babe,” Hardison called.

Eliot paused before he let go of the door. He managed a smile. “’Night. Get some sleep.”

* * *

Eliot grumbled to himself and scratched out a full step of the physics problem he was working through. He was behind in this class and the term would be over in just a few weeks. His professor was flexible, but he’d have to get all his work in before finals if he wanted even a chance at passing, and physics was the last of his gen eds he needed to pass to finish out his bachelor’s degree.

Neither Army Special Forces nor the criminal underbelly of the world were exactly conducive to higher education. Not if you weren’t a Mafioso’s kid, at least.

His dog, Beate, grumbled her displeasure at him still being awake and refusing to play with her from where she lay, pouting, on the couch.

“You’re fine,” he said. “Go to bed.”

“Mmmrrrgggrrrrrow,” she yowled.

“I’m not playin’, Beate. Go to bed.”

She huffed and got down off the couch slowly, stretching her long legs behind her on the cushion when her front feet hit the floor, taking her sweet time. Eliot rolled his eyes.

“Drama queen,” he said. Beate sniffed haughtily and walked slowly into the dark bedroom and Eliot tried to get back to his work.

Of course, less than two minutes later his computer played a sound, startling him, and then the Skype ringtone played. Eliot groaned as Beate came skittering back into the front room of his little country house. He shoved his book aside and adjusted his webcam before clicking ‘Accept’.

_ “Hi!” _Sophie called, waving excitedly from wherever the hell she and Nate were. They’d left on their honeymoon over a month ago and weren’t planning on returning stateside anytime soon.

“Hey Soph,” Eliot greeted. “Nate there?”

_ “Yep,” _Nate called from somewhere offscreen.

_ “Come on, get in the frame,” _Sophie ordered, beckoning until Nate, looking grumpy, squeezed into the oversized armchair next to her. He held a glass of what looked like whiskey and held it up high to keep it from sloshing as they scooted to find a comfortable position for both of them.

“How’s that workin’ for ya,” Eliot asked drily.

_ “Ah, shut up,” _ Nate said good-naturedly.

Sophie looked tanned and Eliot could see a sunhat with flowers on the brim sitting on a table behind them. Even Nate in all of his Irish paleness looked a little tanner than usual.

“Where are y’all at now?” Eliot asked.

_ “Lugano,” _Sophie said.

“Switzerland?”

_ “You know it?” _Sophie asked, looking surprised.

Eliot grimaced. “One of Moreau’s favorite vacation spots.”

Nate snorted. _ “Makes sense. Lot of banks around here.” _

“Exactly.”

_ “Where’s Parker and Hardison?” _Nate asked.

Eliot shrugged. “Last I saw him, Hardison was starting up another round of Mario Kart at the brew pub instead of sleeping, and Parker was scouting the new gallery at the art museum for interesting paintings.”

Sophie clucked her tongue. _ “I could’ve saved her the trouble. Nothing more than some local talent and a solitary Picasso sketch.” _

Nate had pursed his lips and looked like he was trying to calculate something. _ “Hold on, what time is it there?” _

Eliot glanced at the clock on his desktop. “Nearly four.”

Sophie looked sheepish. _ “I forgot about time zones, didn’t you?” _she asked Nate.

_ “Well, uh… Yeah, I guess.” _

_ “Sorry, Eliot. We didn’t wake you up, did we?” _

Eliot waved a hand. “Nah, you’re good. I was doing some homework. Did you guys need anything, or…?”

_ “No, just wanted to check in,” _ Nate said. _ “We might be without internet for a few days, we’re heading to—” _

Eliot’s phone rang. He ignored it and gestured for Nate to continue while he picked it up to silence it. Then he noticed the area code. 405. Central Oklahoma.

“Actually, uh, I gotta take this, can y’all just hang tight for a second?” he asked, not liking what his stomach was doing all of a sudden.

_ “You want to just call us back?” _Nate asked.

“It’ll just be a second,” Eliot said, and hit the green button on his phone. “Hello?”

_ “Danny?” _the voice on the other end asked. The voice was thick with tears but otherwise unmistakable, and his heart stopped. If she was calling…

“Aunt Lois?” he asked incredulously.

_ “Danny! Oh, it’s been so long.” _His aunt let out a loud sob and Eliot was at a loss for words until he realized that there was no way he’d had the same phone number the last time he’d called home.

“Aunt Lois, how did you get this number?” He glanced at his computer screen and saw Sophie and Nate both trying very hard to act like they weren’t eavesdropping. He turned away from the computer and his eyes landed on Beate, laying on the floor next to his chair, while his aunt cried in the background.

_ “Danny, I… It’s Chase.” _

Eliot went numb as he processed his favorite aunt’s words.

“What?” he choked out.

_ “I’m so sorry, Danny, I know he was—” _

Eliot pulled his phone away from his ear and pressed it to his chest, then slowly turned to his computer again, feeling like he was underwater all of a sudden. “I’m gonna. Have to call you back,” he said quietly.

_ “Are you o—” _

Eliot hit the ‘End Call’ button before Nate had finished his question. He slowly brought his phone back up to his ear.

_ “—having a service sometime next week. We don’t know when yet. Won’t you come?” _

In the part of his mind that could still think, Eliot remembered the last time he’d gotten this call, how he’d said no, and how it would forever be his biggest regret, even more than leaving in the first place, even more than joining up with Moreau, even more than every shot he’d taken as a hit man. He couldn’t let Chase down like he’d let Meg down.

“I’ll be there.”

* * *

Eliot was waiting in the living room upstairs from the briefing room when his partners woke up the next morning, on the same couch where he’d played video games with Hardison not ten hours earlier. He was frozen, afraid if he moved an inch he’d shatter into a million pieces, so he sat with his elbows on his knees, hands clasped together, long past when the position usually would have become uncomfortable.

Parker and Hardison, both night owls who regularly had to remind themselves and each other to do normal human things like sleep and eat, lived here together, but Eliot had no idea when they would wake up. The van was still here, and Parker’s sleek but ultimately easily overlooked Mercedes was in its usual spot around the corner in an alley, so he knew they were here.

He sat, frozen, until Parker traipsed into the living room at nearly ten on her way to the little kitchen, still in her pajamas with messy hair. She was mid-yawn when she saw Eliot.

“Hey,” she greeted, then stopped just inside the door and stretched her arms up in what almost ended up looking like a real yoga pose before she let out a heavy breath and dropped her arms unceremoniously. “We’re not leaving for the warehouse until later,” she said.

Eliot couldn’t respond, couldn’t move, couldn’t react. He just clenched his jaw in an attempt to keep from falling apart a little longer.

Parker finally stopped and got a good look at him. “What’s up?” she asked, and that was it.

Eliot’s carefully even breaths turned shuddery and his eyes burned. He dropped his chin to his chest and squeezed his eyes shut. He felt a sharp pain in his hands and it took a moment before he recognized that he’d clenched his hands together so hard his short nails had dug into his skin. He brought his hands, still clenched together, up to his forehead, pressing the backs of his thumbs hard against his forehead and fighting not to slam his fists against his head as hard as he could.

“Whoa,” Parker breathed, and Eliot barely heard her. “I’m gonna… go get Hardison.”

The door opened and closed, and if any time at all passed between Parker leaving and coming back with Hardison in tow Eliot couldn’t feel it.

He shook, his whole body shuddering violently, and his eyes burned but stayed dry. He’d been able to stay carefully numb for almost six hours, between getting the news and Parker waking up, through getting dressed, taking Beate outside, and driving an hour from his country house. He should have been able to push all of this down completely to keep working and still be okay. It had worked with Meg. It should have been easier the second time around.

“Eliot,” Hardison murmured, and Eliot couldn’t respond. “Eliot, shh, shh, shh.”

Suddenly someone big and warm was sitting next to Eliot on the couch, an arm wrapping protectively around his shoulders, and someone else was standing behind him and running their hands through his hair soothingly.

He wasn’t crying still, but he was really, really not okay. His chest felt ragged, like a hole had been punched through his ribs and any number of vital organs had been savagely ripped out.

Chase was dead. His baby brother.

He started to cry, huge sobs that shook his frame in a way he would undoubtedly be extremely embarrassed about later. Hardison, whose arm was around Eliot, pulled him to lean on his shoulder and squeezed tighter.

Eliot had known something like this would happen. He’d always known. There was no way he was the only one of his father’s kids to be fucked up by their childhood.

God, but he should have been there. He should have been around when Chase was older, to be a better role model than Waylon was. _ He should have been there. _

The fault of Chase’s death rested squarely on Eliot’s shoulders. Eliot couldn’t think of a way around that fact. And now he could do nothing to get his baby brother back.

He hadn’t even gotten the chance to reconcile with Chase. He’d died not knowing that Eliot would do anything for him; that when Meg died, he’d been in the worst place to grieve in, that nothing he told Moreau would have let him go and be there for his family.

Chase was the baby of the family. There weren’t even any first cousins in the family younger than him. Someone should’ve protected him, saved him from himself. And it should have been Eliot. Lord knows it wasn’t going to be their father.

Finally, after what felt like hours, Eliot’s tears stopped, leaving him exhausted and ragged. Nothing was better, but he’d tired himself out and could start building up that wall again, the one weathered by use, keeping everyone away from his secrets. Hardison had started rubbing his arm at some point and didn’t stop when Eliot was still. Parker came around and sat on Eliot’s other side.

“Can you talk?” Hardison asked.

Eliot took a handful of deep breaths, and when he’d managed two consecutive breaths without shuddering or sobbing, he nodded. He stayed pressed into Hardison’s side and scrubbed a hand over his face.

“I, uh.” He had to swallow hard before he could continue. “My aunt called me. My… youngest brother died last night.”

Parker breathed in sharply.

“Oh,” she whispered.

Hardison was quiet for a long moment. “How old was he?”

Eliot winced at the past tense. “Twenty-two. An overdose.”

Hardison let out a long breath and cursed. “I’m sorry, man.”

“What was his name?” Parker asked quietly.

“Chase,” Eliot said, sitting up slowly and leaning all the way back so he was looking up at the ceiling. It was cloudy outside and the whole room was filled with a diffuse grey light that had built up around him over the last three hours.

Hardison withdrew his arm and resettled himself. “Were you close?”

“You ever hear me talking about him?”

“…No.”

“Hadn’t talked to him since…” Eliot trailed off, counting the years in his head. “’06. Shit.” He’d never get to apologize. He fought back another round of tears. 

“I thought you only had the one sister,” Parker said.

Eliot sat up slowly, breathing carefully and slowly. “Two sisters, two brothers,” he corrected, then counted off on his fingers. “Meg was oldest, two years older than me. She’s… gone, too.”

Hardison made a small, sad noise.

“Then me. Then Seth, he’s a year and a half younger than me. Then our folks got divorced and our father remarried. Then Laurel June came along, she’s… nine years younger than me, I think. And last was Chase. Eleven years younger than me.”

As he was listing his siblings he realized all of them were grown. Seth would be 33 now, and Laurel June probably 25.

Eliot let that roll around in his head for a minute, and then remembered Aunt Lois’s call again.

“They’re having a funeral sometime next week,” he said.

“Are you gonna go?” Hardison asked quietly.

Eliot let out a long breath. “Yeah. I have to.”

Parker sniffed lightly. “You don’t have to do anything.”

Eliot sighed. “Yeah, Park. I do.”

She pulled her knees up to her chest and leaned into Eliot’s side.

“Do you want us to go with you?” Hardison asked.

Eliot nodded before he fully processed Hardison’s question. If he had to see his family again, he’d much rather he had backup than go it alone.

“Then we’ll go,” Parker said, and it was decided.

Eliot huffed out a laugh, but there was no humor behind it. “You can meet my family.”

“Are they bad?” Parker asked.

“Imagine the kind of family that would turn out someone like me,” Eliot said darkly. “And then multiply it by five kids.”

“Yeesh,” Hardison said.

“Meg and Laurel June somehow survived childhood without becoming murderers,” Eliot said. “Seth had some troubles in school but last I heard he was alright. And Chase—” Eliot cut himself off before he could go down that rabbit hole. He let out a breath. “Someone else talk.”

Hardison turned sideways on the couch and propped up his head on his hand. “I didn’t have any siblings growin’ up, at least for very long. Don’t think I had any birth siblings. If I did I never met ‘em and can't find trace of 'em in my records. But I had a string of foster siblings.”

Eliot hummed so Hardison would keep going. He leaned back and looked up at the ceiling again and Parker started absentmindedly twirling a strand of his hair.

“When I started living with Nana I was… twelve, I think. Somewhere around there,” Hardison said. “There was one other kid with her at the time. I’d just come from a real bad home. Drugs all over the place, meth lab in the kitchen, junkies passed out all over the house all the time. But I showed up at Nana’s and it was just. Me and her and Kelsey. It was nice.”

This time Parker hummed when Hardison paused.

“She was tiny, maybe three or four years younger’n me an’ small for her age. Bright red hair. Blind as a bat. She had these huge Coke-bottle glasses. An’ she was obsessed with _ The Brady Bunch. _ Never missed an episode if she could help it, sittin’ up with her nose just a couple inches from the tv. We used to get off the bus after school and she’d grab my hand and pull me the last coupla blocks home, just haulin’ ass so we could watch lame-ass _ Brady Bunch _ reruns,” he laughed.

“Where is she now?” Parker asked.

Eliot felt the air around Hardison shift, get sharper. “Her mom got out on parole. Got her back.” He was quiet for a long moment. “Haven’t seen hide nor hair of her since, and I can’t find her on the internet.”

Eliot reached out and squeezed Hardison’s shoulder. They were all quiet for a minute, lost in their own thoughts. Parker slowly curled her body tighter into a little ball, her chin resting on her knees.

“Nick had me steal him Legos,” she whispered.

“Yeah?” Hardison encouraged.

“Yeah,” Parker confirmed, her voice faraway. “I wasn’t very good yet. I could only get a few pieces home at a time. He would tell me what he wanted every day and I’d sneak around to all the classrooms at recess time until I had all the pieces.”

Eliot smiled, imagining tiny Parker crawling through air ducts and dropping into a kindergarten classroom with the same determined look she had nowadays while breaking the law.

“By the end of second grade we had more Legos hidden in our closet and under our beds than there were in the entire school,” she said proudly, and then, just like Hardison a minute ago, something changed in the silence and Parker shut down. Eliot understood. They all knew how this story ended.

Parker abruptly stood up and swiped at her eyes.

“Breakfast,” she said, her voice ragged, and she set off towards the little kitchen at the far end of the room.

Hardison slowly stood. He offered his hand to Eliot, who took it but stayed put.

“You eaten?” Hardison asked.

Eliot shook his head.

“You should,” Hardison said gently.

Eliot took his hand back and crossed his arms, trying to cover the ragged hole in his ribcage. It ached. “Can’t,” he said shortly.

Hardison smiled softly and nodded and, to his credit, didn’t push the issue.

Eliot stayed on the couch, arms crossed to hold himself together, and listened to his partners clatter around in the kitchen. As long as they were around he probably wouldn’t drown in this guilt he felt. Probably.

_ Danny… Danny, come home. Please. _

* * *

“Laurel June was only seven when I got my license,” Eliot said, folding one of Parker’s shirts. She’d refused to fold her clothes while packing for Oklahoma and now everything was wrinkled all to hell. He laughed. “Suddenly I was her personal chauffeur. Dance class, sleepovers, just wanting Sonic, whatever, everywhere she wanted to go. If Waylon told her she could go somewhere, it didn’t matter what I was doin’, I had to drop everything to get her there.”

Hardison smiled through the doorway. “You and her close?”

“Now?” Eliot asked, and shook his head a little bit. “Haven’t talked to her in a while. We kept in touch for a few years once I left, but when I joined up with Moreau I pretty much had to lose contact with most everyone.” He folded another shirt and plopped it on the growing pile on the suite’s only bed, king sized but still not quite big enough for the three of them to be comfortable. “I talked to her a couple times when I left Moreau and went freelance, but…” He shrugged. “Not much since.”

They weren’t staying in Eliot’s hometown. It wasn’t big enough for any hotels except the motel out by the turnpike, and Hardison had expensive tastes, so they’d booked (well, hacked reservations for) a presidential suite in a four-star hotel in Oklahoma City instead. It was only half an hour from Eliot’s dad’s house, anyway.

“And Seth?” Hardison asked. He was lounging grandly on the couch in the next room, just visible through the doorway and Eliot groaned when he saw that Hardison had swiped a terry cloth bathrobe monogrammed with the hotel’s logo. “He’s… next oldest after you, right?”

“Yeah, right in the middle,” Eliot confirmed. He tried not to remember the last time he’d spoken to Seth. “We… haven’t talked. Not since right before I left Moreau.”

“Why did you leave?” Parker asked, so close behind Eliot it should have made him jump, but she couldn’t surprise him anymore.

Eliot feigned nonchalance. “Couldn’t keep doin’ it. Started to get too much.” They didn’t need to know that it was Meg’s death that pushed him over that threshold, that Seth and Chase had stopped talking to him when he didn’t go home for the funeral, that Laurel June was the only one of his siblings that still answered calls from him after that, that eventually his guilt stopped him from calling Junie at all.

“Why didn’t you come back to Oklahoma?” Hardison asked, looking casually interested.

Eliot huffed. “Nothing for me here except three siblings who didn’t talk to me and an aunt an' uncle who were just as scared of my father as we were.”

“Your father?” Parker asked cautiously, looking curious but also like she was going to bolt any second.

Eliot grimaced. “I won’t get too graphic, but uh. Suffice to say he was bad news. Far as I know he still is. Kept Laurel June and Seth especially on a tight leash and never liked me. Didn’t even pretend he did.” Parker nodded, her expression troubled. “His wife, Marcie, was bad news in a different way. He drank, she gossiped. Nothing I did was ever good enough, but she pretended to like everyone. Put both of ‘em together under one roof…” Eliot shrugged and turned back to Parker’s suitcase, letting the rest of his sentence hang in the air. 

He must have sent off enough signals that this line of questioning was over, because Parker started climbing up on the desk to peer at the top half of the room and Hardison studied a glass of champagne. Where the hell had he even gotten that?

“What about your mom?” Parker asked. “Did you have one?”

Eliot smiled softly, remembering Ellen Weaver. “Yeah, I had a mom. She was great. Worked like three jobs. Always exhausted, but she used to let us watch Letterman with her when we couldn’t sleep. Me and Seth and Meg. She remarried after a couple years. Her new husband, Pat, was pretty good too. Never tried to be our dad, just tried to be a good influence. They were both always in our corner.”

Parker had stopped scanning the tops of the furniture and stood on the desk, her head cocked to the side as she watched Eliot with some kind of look he had seen on Sophie’s face before. “What happened?” she asked quietly.

Eliot looked down at the pajama pants in his hands and hurriedly folded them.

“She died,” he said shortly. “That’s the story with lots’a my family. Overworked herself into a heart attack young. Pat tried to keep us after she died, but couldn’t make it legal without a shitshow. Meg was outta the house by then anyway. I graduated as soon as I could and joined the Army. Couldn’t stay just with my dad, not without my mom every other weekend. I woulda lost it in a month without that plan.”

Hardison was quiet for a long moment.

“When do you wanna head into town?” he asked.

Eliot let out a long breath. “As late as we possibly can. I don’t want to spend any longer at that house than I have to.” 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings in this chapter for: many references to sibling death (here and throughout the fic), smoking, references to child abuse and resulting trauma, deadnaming (not directed at a trans person), use of an ableist slur, discussions of drug addiction and drug overdose, bullying, references to domestic violence, child abandonment

_ When I left my home and my family  
_ _ I was no more than a boy  
_ _ In the company of strangers  
_ _In the quiet of the railway station_  
_Running scared_

“The Boxer”—Simon & Garfunkel, covered by Mumford & Sons

“Aunt Lois is the one with the hair. You’ll know what I mean, if she hasn’t changed it. She’s married to my Uncle Mike. He might be bringing a pan of biscuits. Don’t eat ‘em,” Eliot instructed.

“How come?” Parker asked.

“We used to call ‘em moon rocks,” Eliot said.

“Ouch.”

“If my cousins Levi and Kenny are there, don’t eat anything they try to give you,” Eliot instructed. “They like to prank northerners with calf fries or lamb fries.”

“What’s so bad about that?” Hardison asked from the backseat of their rental car, only half paying attention as he typed something on his laptop.

“Calf fries and lamb fries are chicken-fried testicles, Hardison,” Eliot said, and that got his attention. Parker made a gagging noise from the passenger seat.

“The hell is wrong with this backwards-ass state,” Hardison muttered, going back to his computer.

“Don’t knock ‘em til you try ‘em, actually. You get ‘em done right they’re pretty good,” Eliot said with a shrug.

“Gross,” Parker said, making a face. Eliot smiled and waved for someone to go around them on the turnpike. They were a few minutes from exiting anyway.

“Jack might be there with Hannah and Chris but I’m not sure,” Eliot said, his attention starting to drift from the road in front of him.

“Who’s that?” Parker asked. She sounded weirdly focused, like she was making a family tree or spreadsheet in her head instead of listening to Eliot think out loud about his family.

Eliot grimaced. “Meg’s husband and their two kids. Hannah will be… nine now, and Chris is seven.”

Parker was quiet for a long second, and Eliot glanced at her in the passenger seat and saw her doing math in her head. “Didn’t you say Meg died seven years ago?”

Eliot winced and turned back to the road. “Yep. I’ve never met either of the kids.”

Eliot didn’t offer any more information, and Parker didn’t ask any more questions.

After a long silence Hardison stopped typing in the backseat. “Okay, I got aliases for us,” he said. “Guessin’ you’ll still want to be Eliot Spencer, but we’re—”

“Not Eliot Spencer,” Eliot said, groaning internally. He’d meant to have this conversation earlier but he’d put it off.

“Huh?”

“That’s not my birth name, hon,” Eliot said. “You never did any super spy hackin’ on me?”

Eliot saw Hardison shrug in the rearview mirror. “Never had much reason to.”

“You trust me too goddamn much,” Eliot mumbled. “I only became Eliot Spencer in 2004. Before that I was Eliot Jordan and a couple others, but for this you gotta use my birth name. Daniel Gillespie.”

He stared dead ahead at the road but felt Parker’s eyes on him and it made his skin crawl. “What?” he demanded.

_ “Daniel?” _Parker asked incredulously.

“Yeah,” Eliot said defensively. “Or Danny. Mosta these people call me Danny.” Parker snorted and Eliot grumbled to himself. “Shut up,” he muttered.

“Well, alright, you'll be Danny,” Hardison said, and damn but it was weird to hear him say that name. “The two of us, I got Gerald Landry, and Parker’s got Erin Newell.”

“Erin. Gerald,” Eliot whispered, committing the names to memory. “Park, you’re gonna need to pick one of us to be engaged to,” Eliot said, bracing himself for Parker’s reaction.

As expected, Parker scowled. “Why?”

“Because bringing two friends isn’t an answer they’ll like and I’m sure as hell not about to say I’m bi and in a queerplatonic polyamorous triad with my two good buddies who are criminals,” Eliot said.

Parker pouted but leaned down to rummage in her bag at her feet. She came up with a diamond engagement ring and slid it on her finger unceremoniously. “Fine. Eliot.”

Eliot gave Hardison a shit-eating grin in the rearview mirror, and Hardison exclaimed indignantly. “What! Why him?”

Parker hummed and turned around in her seat, then started listing things as she counted them off on her fingers. “He said bringing two friends isn’t an answer his family would like, bringing the two of us as an engaged couple would still mean bringing two friends, and if _ we _were engaged you’d get weird about it.”

Eliot snorted and Hardison smacked the back of his seat.

Parker pulled her feet up to sit cross legged in the passenger seat and settled in, not at all looking bothered by Hardison’s displeasure. “What covers did you give us?” she asked Hardison.

“Teachers,” Hardison said once he’d recovered and stopped grumbling. “I had a pic of Eliot handy from when we took over the school in Boston. So Eliot, I’m giving you gym. You want anything else?”

Eliot tapped the steering wheel as he thought. “Maybe English. What grades?”

“Middle school,” Hardison said. “Figured it’s easy enough to fake. People don’t want to talk about middle school.”

“Then yeah, English. What’re you teaching?”

Hardison clicked a few buttons and read from his laptop screen. “Technology and Media Education. Plus yearbook. Parker, haven’t picked for you yet. Any preferences?”

Parker hummed and finally said, “Special education.”

Eliot raised his eyebrows. Parker had never been quiet about her dislike of her special education classes before she left school entirely. “You sure?”

Parker shrugged. “My teachers were always mean. I can do better.”

Hardison hummed in approval and typed some more. “Alright, got it all settled up. Set up a fake school that links from the district site with a bunch of fake teachers. Already had a template ready to go. I’ll beef it up more tonight.”

Eliot blew out a breath. Just another lie to remember.

“Why did you pick Eliot Spencer?” Parker asked suddenly.

Eliot changed lanes and hummed. “In about ’03 the military set me up with Eliot Jordan for a mission. Mighta been CIA. I liked bein’ Eliot, so after the mission was over I kept it in my back pocket til I left.”

“What about Spencer?” Hardison asked.

“Man, you really haven’t been payin’ attention, have you?” Eliot asked.

“What are you talkin’ about?”

Eliot grinned and pointed through the windshield, Hardison’s question coming at exactly the right place in their drive.

“EXIT 61B: SPENCER, ½ MILE”

Parker sat up straight.

“What the hell?” Hardison exclaimed.

“Did you really name yourself after your hometown?” Parker asked.

Eliot shrugged. “Guilty.”

Hardison laughed and Eliot tried to keep a smile on his face as he changed lanes, not particularly excited about what waited for him in three miles.

* * *

“You ready?” Hardison asked.

Eliot stared through the windshield of the parked car at a house he hadn’t seen in sixteen years. Almost seventeen. It looked almost exactly the same despite so many years. The same wood siding. Same sagging screened-in porch. Same—god, the same pair of work boots resting just outside the front door. Same oak tree overhanging the porch. The same fence closing in the wide backyard.

The only differences were a new roof, freshly painted window frames and doors, a new mailbox stuck under one front window, and that cracked front step had finally been replaced. And the tree was bigger.

He had been a very different person the last time he was here. He had been angry, reckless, impulsive, and bursting at the seams with unspoken and unacknowledged trauma. This house was the scene of so many fucked up memories so clear in his dreams they may as well have been home videos projecting inside his skull. There were good times, too; any place you live for seventeen years is going to have soft, fond memories, no matter how many more bad memories you made there. He just hoped stepping through that door brought back the good memories, the good qualities he’d lost over the years, and he hoped that the painful memories, the anger, the helplessness, the fear stayed tucked up in the attic with the rest of the junk built up over the last three and a half decades.

Eliot tried to see in through the front windows to gauge how many people were in there. There were half a dozen cars parked in the long driveway and in the street nearby, other than Waylon’s old brown pickup way back by the garage, but that could have meant anywhere from seven to thirty-five people in the house, knowing this town. He saw some movement through the blinds, the flickering glow of a television screen, and after a moment, an old man stepped out the front door, stamping his feet into his boots more securely and fumbling in his pockets.

“Who’s that?” Parker asked, sliding to the edge of her seat.

It was dusk and the sky was rapidly darkening, and the man was thirty yards away, but Eliot could see a flannel shirt and jeans, grey hair and the flash of a belt buckle. There was a bright spark that illuminated the man’s face as he lit a cigarette while he walked away from the house.

“My Uncle Mike,” Eliot said with a little smile.

“We like him?” Hardison asked.

Eliot nodded. “Lois’s husband and my father’s brother. They used to take us kids over long weekends and make barbecue and let us go swimming and do whatever we wanted. We like them.”

Eliot let out a breath and opened the door. Parker and Hardison all but scrambled out as well, evidently caught off guard by Eliot’s sudden surge of courage.

“Hey, El,” Hardison called quietly, fumbling with something as he tried to catch up with Eliot a few paces ahead. “Listen. I got the comms, we want ‘em?”

Eliot shook his head. “This ain’t a job, Hardison.”

Parker locked step with Eliot and took his hand. He tried to shake her off but her hand tightened pointedly before she relaxed. “We’re engaged, _ Danny,” _ she hissed.

Eliot rolled his eyes. “Fine,” he muttered.

When they were fifteen yards away Uncle Mike noticed them, too wrapped up in his cigarette and thoughts to hear the car doors slam. He took the cigarette from his mouth, dropped it, smiled around the smoke he exhaled, and met Eliot halfway.

Eliot let go of Parker’s hand and grinned as he hugged his favorite uncle. It was warm and lasted maybe a second too long for a hug between straight men who weren’t in touch with their feelings, but eventually Eliot patted Mike’s shoulder and they parted.

“Mike,” he said casually.

Uncle Mike grinned again. “Shit, Danny, you’re all grown up.”

Eliot rolled his eyes. “Ah, shut up, old man.”

Mike’s smile faltered. “Listen, uh, Danny, it’s rough in there.” He gestured to the house. “Your daddy’s upset, not that he’ll show it. Marcie’s continuin’ on like nothin’s happened—”

Eliot patted his arm. “Uncle Mike,” he interrupted. “I ‘preciate it, but I’d rather see for myself.”

Mike considered him for a moment, nodded obligingly, and looked at Parker and Hardison as if just realizing they were there. “You gonna introduce me?” he asked Eliot.

Eliot grinned and pulled Parker closer by her hand. She had slipped into some sort of kind, romantic persona and she smiled sweetly at Mike. It creeped Eliot out. “Uncle Mike, this is my fiancée, Erin,” Eliot said. Parker and Mike shook hands. “And that’s my best friend Gerald,” he said, throwing a thumb over his shoulder to where he was pretty sure Hardison was.

“Hi, yeah, over here,” Hardison said from Eliot’s left, just behind his field of vision, and waved as if to get Eliot’s attention.

“Right,” Eliot said.

“Hi,” Mike said, smiling and shaking Hardison’s hand. “Where y’all at now?”

“Portland,” Eliot said, not feeling the need to lie. “But, uh, Mike, you don’t mind, I’m gonna…” He pointed to the house and Mike nodded.

“Probably best. We’ll catch up later,” Mike said, touching his nose with one finger and winking, then pointing at Eliot. It was a familiar gesture, one Eliot had found himself doing on more than one occasion, and seeing it again threw Eliot back to his childhood for just a moment, and then it was gone when he stepped away from Mike, because the front door had opened again.

Eliot only realized that Parker’s hand was still in his when she squeezed his fingers. His palms were suddenly slick and his breath caught in his throat the instant he saw Waylon step out onto the porch, and it took a solid second to remember how to breathe and walk like a normal person. 

It felt like the entire neighborhood had gone still and silent, watching this reunion of father and oldest son through blinds and curtains. The front door had been left open, and in the part of his mind that could focus on other things Eliot noticed a handful of curious faces staring out at him.

Eliot let go of Parker and walked by himself the dozen yards or so to the bottom step of the porch stairs, feeling like he was walking into no-man’s-land on the goddamn battlefield. Waylon stopped at the top of the porch stairs, and even though there were only three steps and Waylon wasn’t particularly tall, Eliot felt like his father was towering over him.

Waylon, looking so much like his older brother despite their personalities being completely different, was an old man now. His hair used to be brown, just greying at the temples when Eliot left Spencer in ’97, but now it was all grey, and his face creased and weathered from half a century of sun and wind was highlighted by nearly-white stubble a couple of days old. He dressed the same as Eliot remembered, with a Levi’s snap-front striped shirt tucked into Wrangler jeans, a weathered pair of aviator sunglasses in one breast pocket.

Waylon squinted down at Eliot, and Eliot looked up, trying to stay firm under this scrutiny. It wouldn’t do him any favors if he withered after this long spent running away from his past.

Finally, after what felt like eternity but was probably only a couple of seconds, Waylon stuck out a hand and gave Eliot the closest thing to a smile as he ever gave. Eliot shook his hand, grateful for evidently passing whatever test Waylon had been giving, and Waylon used the grip to pull Eliot up to the top step. Eliot half expected his father to hug him, given the circumstances of the reunion, but Waylon let go and just looked at him.

“Welcome back, Danny,” he said, his scratchy voice as gruff as ever.

“Hi, Dad,” Eliot replied, because if you were a Gillespie kid you couldn’t call Waylon anything but that unless you wanted trouble.

“You need a haircut,” Waylon observed, all but glaring at Eliot’s shoulder length hair.

“Yes, sir,” Eliot said, having no intention of cutting his hair.

“Where you been?” Waylon’s question was loaded with resentment and a heavy hint that told Eliot he knew _exactly_ why he hadn’t come home after leaving the Army ten years ago.

Eliot shrugged as casually as he could, trying to ignore what felt like about thirty pairs of eyes trained on him. “Around,” he said vaguely. “Europe for a bit, Boston for a couple years. Oregon for the last two.”

Waylon looked actually surprised at that last one. “Oregon? That hippy-dippy state? Don’t tell me you’re _ happy _there, son.”

Eliot finally got some of the anger he remembered from this part of his life, the person he’d worked so hard to not be anymore bubbling back up. “Actually, I am, Dad,” he said casually, his anger taking the place of his rapidly dwindling courage.

Waylon raised his bushy eyebrows in surprise. “Well,” he said. “You’re gonna have to tell me all about it.” He turned towards the yard and the people standing in it. “You gonna introduce me to your friends?” he asked Eliot, and the parallels between this conversation and the one with Uncle Mike just made it clearer how very different the brothers were.

“Uh, yeah.” Eliot beckoned Parker and Hardison closer. Parker joined him at the top of the steps and grabbed his hand, but Hardison stayed at the bottom of the steps reservedly. “Dad, this is my fiancée, Erin Newell,” Eliot said, suddenly getting the impression that he’d be doing this a lot tonight. “And my best friend from the service, Gerald Landry.”

Waylon shook both their hands, paying particular attention to Parker, and Eliot’s gut protested faintly. When Eliot mentioned the Army, though, Waylon’s attention shifted and he looked scandalized.

“The service, huh?” he asked Hardison. “Tell me, uh, how you feel about my boy doin’ what he did?”

Eliot froze, not expecting this talk to come up so soon.

Hardison, luckily, was ready and took it in stride. “What, deserting? What he did once he went Green Beret is all on him. We were in basic and the first deployment in Iraq together. Didn’t catch back up until a few years ago,” Hardison said, sounding almost like he knew what he was talking about.

Waylon chewed on this for a moment and nodded, then turned back to Eliot. “You know, back when you went missin’ there were officers and federal agents all over town lookin’ for you. Crawled all over the place for a month waitin’ for you to come back,” he said, looking disappointed and more than a little angry. Eliot knew how he felt about having unfamiliar authorities around. The only ones he liked were Sheriff Odell and two of the other cops in Spencer, and military cops were another story entirely. Eliot fought back a grimace, refusing to feel bad about inconveniencing his father.

“I figured there would be,” Eliot said, but offered no apologies, and Waylon clearly waited for one. “Where’s Marcie?” Eliot asked instead of indulging him.

Waylon studied Eliot for a long moment, then sighed almost imperceptibly and headed for the front door. “Come on in, she’s in the kitchen.”

Parker looked alarmed at Eliot, and he shook his head, willing her not to worry. If she couldn’t handle this level of guilt-tripping, the rest of the week would be hell for her.

The front room of Eliot’s childhood home remained almost as untouched as the outside, but Eliot barely noticed that under the stares of a dozen people, all of varying degrees of familiarity, arranged in a loose circle around the front door. There were a couple of his cousins, and Aunt Lois waved at him from the back of the group, and a math teacher from high school whose name he couldn’t remember, and the next door neighbors, and as the small crowd parted to admit the newcomers into the living room Eliot saw Laurel June come into the room from the hallway. Waylon herded them to the couch, though, so he was only able to lock eyes with his sister for a moment before his father required his attention again. Seth was nowhere to be seen.

"Junie, get your mother," Waylon called, and Laurel June disappeared. 

Eliot sat on the couch and pulled a reluctant Parker to sit next to him. Hardison sat on Eliot’s other side, and Waylon settled into his worn easy chair. The small crowd of observers, some with red, puffy eyes, hesitantly returned to their mourning or catching up. Eliot sensed that as soon as Waylon relinquished him he’d be ambushed by everyone else in the room, hoping to catch up with him and ask him a million questions, but the only people here he really wanted to talk to for any amount of time were his siblings, Aunt Lois, and Uncle Mike. And Meg’s husband Jack, if he was here.

“So what have you been doin’ in Oregon?” Waylon asked, visibly preparing himself to judge whatever lie Eliot gave.

“The three of us teach middle school,” Eliot said, and patted Parker’s hand. “It’s where I met Erin.”

Waylon looked quietly amused. “You’re teaching,” he repeated. “Takin’ after your sister, then?”

Eliot’s blood boiled. Meg had been a teacher.

_ Don’t you dare talk about Meg, _he wanted to scream at his father.

“Guess so,” he replied instead, pushing his anger down.

“What you teaching?” Waylon asked, looking for more things to ridicule.

Eliot had to consciously unclench his jaw before he could answer. “Gym and English,” he said.

Waylon looked even more amused, but evidently decided to leave Eliot alone for the time being. “And you, sweetheart?” he asked Parker, his voice becoming sickly sweet and condescending. “What do you teach?”

Parker didn’t answer until Eliot nudged her pointedly. _ You can’t just pretend he’s not there, _ he wanted to tell her. _ It won’t make him go away. _

“I’m a special education teacher,” Parker finally blurted.

Waylon looked surprised and, bafflingly, sad. “Damn,” he said, sounding more than a little impressed. “Workin’ with retards and all? That’s tough.”

Parker stiffened next to Eliot and he had to squeeze her hand hard to keep her from breaking character. Hardison shifted in his seat and Eliot cleared his throat in warning. No one wanted to hear what would come out of Waylon’s mouth if they tried to change his perception of disabled people or tried to get him to stop calling them slurs. Hell, Waylon didn’t know any of them had disabilities at all, even Eliot.

“Uh-huh,” Parker said, straining to keep her voice under control. “Yep.”

Waylon was just about to ask Hardison the same question, but Marcie elbowed her way through the crowd and interrupted their little reunion.

“Danny!” she exclaimed happily, throwing open her arms to demand a hug. She was wearing black, but that was the only thing about her that indicated that her only biological son had recently died of a drug overdose.

Eliot sighed to himself before standing and accepting a hug from his stepmother. “Hi Marcie,” he said. “How’ve you been?” If he could get her to show even one iota of genuine negative emotion regarding the purpose for Eliot’s visit, he’d be satisfied.

Marcie’s demeanor, though, didn’t change. “Oh, well, you know,” she said. “Pretty good, considering.”

Considering. _ Considering. _

Considering that her son had died at only twenty-two years old. Considering that it was very likely the abuse from her and her husband that led that son to drugs in the first place. Considering that now two of five siblings were dead and the oldest wouldn’t even have been forty yet.

Eliot’s jaw clenched and he sighed. “Yeah, I understand,” he said, not at all understanding how Marcie could be so cavalier about all this.

Marcie smiled sadly at him and reached up to brush her fingers through the ends of his hair. “You’re all grown up, Danny,” she said, and it was a remarkably gentle gesture for a woman who had once threatened to personally shave Eliot’s head after a bad report card in high school.

Eliot smiled back at her, tight and short. He introduced Parker and Hardison, and Marcie sat on the arm of Waylon’s chair, leaning into him in a nauseatingly familiar pose.

“Danny and Erin—that’s Danny’s _ fiancée-- _ were just tellin’ me that they’re _ teachers _now,” Waylon said, putting more than a little mockery in his voice, and Marcie’s eyebrows shot up.

“Interesting. Never woulda guessed that,” she said. “And you, young man, what do you do?” she asked Hardison.

Hardison sat up a little straighter. “I’m also a teacher. Technology and Media Education, and I’m the yearbook sponsor.”

Waylon and Marcie nodded, looking impressed, but Eliot could tell, even sixteen years after last seeing them, that it was an act. “That’s very nice,” Waylon said.

Laurel June stepped up then, just outside the little circle of chairs and the couch, her eyes on Eliot’s shoes. She didn’t speak, just stood there, and Eliot cleared his throat.

“We, uh, got a few more days to catch up,” he said, and Marcie looked vaguely offended. “I think I wanna say hi to everyone else, if y’all don’t have anything pressing.”

“That’s fine, Danny,” Marcie said, standing and walking off without so much as an excuse or a smile. Waylon stayed put in his chair.

Eliot stood and smiled at Laurel June, trying to ignore their father’s presence. “C’mere, brat,” he said, opening his arms. Laurel June rushed into them and hugged him tight, trembling like a leaf. Parker and Hardison stayed sitting on the couch awkwardly, Hardison with his hands braced on the seat like he was getting ready to push himself into a standing position.

“Danny,” Laurel June whispered, and sniffled loudly.

Eliot pulled her back by the shoulders. “Hey, hey,” he murmured. “I’m here, I’m alright.”

Laurel June wiped at her eyes and took a second to collect herself. “Sorry, I just missed you so much,” she said. “Things been so different around here with you gone, and everything’s been happening, and Chase...”

Eliot pressed his mouth into a line, at a loss for how to console her. He had always been the most reserved with his emotions of all of the Gillespie kids, and he was out of practice dealing with it. He settled for rubbing her shoulders gently.

Laurel June wiped her eyes one more time and then set her jaw. She punched Eliot in the arm, hard enough that Eliot knew she put some real effort into it, though not enough that it actually hurt. “And then my dumbass brother had to go and show back up outta the blue like he never left,” she said, her words biting but her eyes softly amused.

There was the Junie he knew and loved.

He grinned and pinched her cheek. “Missed you too, Junie.”

Laurel June winced and looked put out. “Introduce me to your friends,” she demanded.

Eliot gestured for Parker and Hardison to get up and join them, but when he noticed Waylon was still watching them, he beckoned the three of them to another part of the room where they would have some degree of privacy.

“Junie, this is my fiancée Erin and my best friend Gerald,” Eliot said shortly, gesturing to each of them in turn. “Erin, Gerald, this is my annoying baby sister Laurel June.”

Laurel June smiled and shook their hands, and Eliot took advantage of her distraction to study her. She was all grown up. Several inches taller than the last time he’d seen her, no longer stick-thin, and her hair, which had been curly growing up, now hung straight around her shoulders. Then Eliot noticed the ring on her finger.

“Hold on,” he said, and grabbed at her hand to study the ring. It was diamond, at least one carat, set in what looked like white gold. A second band had been added. “When the hell did you get married?”

Laurel June smiled shyly. “Two years ago,” she answered.

“To who?” Eliot demanded. He hadn’t gotten to interrogate her husband before they got married and had to know if he approved. It had to be someone from Spencer. Laurel June had never left.

Laurel June turned and hummed as she pointed around the room, evidently looking for her husband. “There he is,” she said after a moment, pointing at a man standing at the archway to the kitchen, awkwardly apart from everyone. “You know him, don’t you?”

Eliot’s jaw clenched and he saw red. “Hunter Classen?” he demanded. “You married Hunter Classen?”

Laurel June stuck her chin in the air defensively. “Yes. Problem?”

Eliot growled and Laurel June dropped the act. “Yeah, I got a problem. You don’t remember him beating Seth up nearly every day?” He felt Hardison shift uncomfortably behind him.

Laurel June let out a _ hmph _ . “He’s changed since y’all were in high school, Danny,” she said, though her words sounded hollow. “I don’t even think he _ did _ beat Seth up, to be honest.”

Eliot gritted his teeth. “Let’s ask Seth, then,” he said. “Where is he?”

Laurel June debated answering, then sighed. “He left when you got here. Went out the back.”

Eliot deflated. Seth still didn’t want to see him. Maybe they’d never make up.

“Dammit,” he mumbled, his anger about Hunter dissipating in an instant. He looked around again, but couldn’t clearly see everyone in the room. “Did Jack and the kids come?” he asked quietly.

Laurel June looked pained. “No. They might be at the funeral.” She leaned in close and dropped her voice. “Jack hasn’t been lettin’ Mom and Dad see the kids. I haven’t seen them in two years. I talk to Jack every now an' then, but...”

Eliot grimaced. He couldn’t blame Jack. He wouldn’t want Waylon and Marcie around his kids either. “He say why?”

Laurel June shrugged. “If he did, Mom and Dad haven’t told me.”

“Uh, Danny,” Hardison said quietly, nudging him. “Erin left something in the car, we’ll be right back.”

Eliot barely registered him speaking and nodded automatically.

He sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face. “Hunter treat you right?” he asked, unable to get his mind off the image of Seth with a black eye and a cut on his chin, trying to hide the bruises with Meg’s makeup before dinner.

Laurel June faltered, caught off guard by the question. She looked panicked for a moment, then set her jaw. “Yes,” she said, but something about it didn’t ring true, and Eliot feared the worst. He glanced up at Hunter and saw him watching them, eyes hard and suspicious.

He had half a mind to go and give Hunter a taste of what he’d dished out to Seth when they were kids, back when Eliot didn’t have the strength or the skills to defend his brother.

“Knock it off, Danny,” Laurel June said sternly, poking him hard in the chest, like she was reading his mind. “I can take care of myself.”

Eliot looked down at her. She wore a fierce expression and kept her finger jabbed into his sternum, but there was fear behind her eyes. Eliot’s blood boiled but he forced himself to calm down.

“You knock it off,” he retorted, swatting her hand away.

Laurel June regarded him for a moment. “You been gone too long, Danny,” she said bluntly. “Nothing is the same as when you left. And you can’t expect it to be.”

With that, she walked off to join Hunter. Eliot watched as he wound an arm around her waist and reeled her in to kiss her cheek. It looked so possessive.

Eliot nearly walked out of the house right then, going to find Parker and Hardison and driving back to the hotel without saying goodbye to anyone and skipping reunions with the rest of his family. There was nothing keeping him here.

The only thing that stopped him was a sneak hug attack from Aunt Lois, and his fight or flight reflex kicked in hard. He managed to just flinch as she hugged him around the middle, and when he realized who it was, he leaned into it and hugged back. Finally, she drew back.

“Thanks for coming, Danny,” she said, her eyes getting misty.

Like her husband, she too looked much older than the last time Eliot had seen her. Her wispy hair, grey where it used to be blonde, was pulled up in the same bun it always had been, with braids circling it and flyaway hairs giving her a silvery halo she could never do anything about. Her laugh lines were deeper now, and as she took Eliot’s hand, he could feel how knobby her knuckles had gotten. But she was still the same Aunt Lois Eliot remembered, the one who smelled like horses and cinnamon, who wore nearly ankle length denim skirts and handmade patchwork vests.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Eliot said, and he knew by the look on her face that his aunt was thinking about Meg’s funeral, too. “Thanks for letting me know.”

Aunt Lois smiled sadly and pulled him down to her height by the wrist to kiss his cheek, then held onto him and started giving him the updated family gossip, turning him slightly so he could see the rest of the room and pointing out people one by one.

“Jesse, Ida Rose’s son, joined the Army last year. He’s the one who broke Shelby’s arm that one summer, you ‘member. He hasn’t been home yet. Lookin’ like he’ll do combat medicine. Shelby moved to the city, but she’s back for the week, she’s at the store now. You talked to Laurel June, she probably told you she got married to that Hunter over there a couple years back, they got a little one on the way, and—”

Eliot was about to stop her to demand more information about Laurel June’s pregnancy, but his gaze landed on something else that made that thought stop in its tracks. The front room of his childhood home was living room, entryway, and dining room in one, with the kitchen off to one side, and Eliot saw a little girl he’d never seen before, maybe four years old, with dark, curly, familiar hair and big, anxious eyes staring out from between the legs of the dining chairs. She clutched a stuffed animal to her chest and looked close to tears.

“Wait,” he interrupted Aunt Lois. He pointed discreetly to the little girl. “Who’s that?”

Aunt Lois looked pained and leaned in even closer. “I was workin’ my way to her, Danny. That’s Rosalia. Chase’s daughter.”

All the noise and stares from the rest of the room seemed to die down, Eliot’s focus shifting entirely to this little girl and his aunt’s low voice in his ear.

“Daughter?” he asked breathlessly.

“Chase got a girl pregnant in high school,” Lois said. “Danae Baker, you ‘member her? Well, Danae run off right after Rosie was born and Chase was raisin’ her himself. Dropped out of school and started workin’ to support them.”

And now he was dead.

Eliot watched as Rosalia winced and clapped a hand over her ear as someone nearby laughed loudly, and she cowered back further under the table.

“Is she okay?” he found himself asking. “Who’s takin’ care of her?”

Lois put a steadying hand on his arm. “Laurel June’s got her for now. They don’t know if they’re gonna be able to keep her.” She shifted on her feet uncomfortably. “Waylon and Marcie have been talkin’ about filin’ for custody,” she said, dropping her voice.

“Absolutely not,” Eliot said, louder than he meant to. “Ain’t happenin’.”

Aunt Lois nodded. “That’s what I been thinkin’ too. If Mike weren’t gone all day an’ my hands and knees weren’t so darn arthritic I’d take her myself.”

Eliot barely heard her, his whole mind focused on making sure this kid he’d never met wasn’t subjected to the same childhood he had been.

Aunt Lois saw that he was distracted and patted his shoulder, making him jump. “Go say hi,” she encouraged.

Eliot managed a small smile at her before crossing the room towards the dining table. Parker and Hardison had evidently come back inside, because when Eliot was halfway to the table Hardison reached out to snag his arm and reel him in.

“You okay?” Hardison asked, his voice low.

“In a minute,” Eliot said, not even processing Hardison’s question until he’d pulled his arm free and walked away.

In front of the table he paused and crouched, his knees protesting. He smiled at Rosalia, who was staunchly looking away from him. Or rather, her face was turned away stiffly, but she snuck glances at Eliot furtively, only moving her eyes. She clutched her stuffed koala to her chest like a shield.

“Hi,” Eliot said softly. “I’m your Uncle Danny.”

Rosalia shyly waved, still not looking at him.

“My Aunt Lois over there tells me your name is Rosalia,” he said.

Up close, he could see her features more clearly. She was thin, too thin, and her dark brown curly hair hung down to her shoulders, the same color and curl as Chase’s hair had been his entire life. Marcie had always insisted Chase’s hair would straighten out and lighten like hers had, but it never did. Rosalia had big brown eyes, unlike Chase’s blue-grey, and Eliot gathered that that was a feature from her mother. A cleft chin, like Chase. A slight tan and high cheekbones, like Chase and Eliot and the rest of the Gillespies on Waylon’s side, a product of their Creek ancestry. And those big brown eyes were watching Eliot now, eye contact surprisingly direct.

“How come I never met you before?” she asked, her voice quiet but tinged with an unmistakable accent.

Eliot smiled. “I live far away now. I hadn’t been back to Spencer since way before you were born,” he said.

Rosalia seemed to accept this, and looked away again.

“How old are you, Rosalia?”

She closed her eyes and put her nose in the air just slightly, and Eliot was struck by how… autistic of a gesture it was. Parker did that sometimes, when she was avoiding something.

After a long moment Rosalia let go of her koala with one hand and held that hand up, showing five fingers. Eliot smiled encouragingly even though her eyes were still shut tight, but he was internally worried. Five years old? And that small? Was she okay?

“Wow,” Eliot said softly. “You’re almost grown up.”

Rosalia nudged her nose up a touch higher and fluttered her fingers in the air like she was playing an invisible piano. A shy smile spread across her round face and it was the most beautiful thing in the world to Eliot at that moment.

His knees were killing him, though, so after a short internal debate he sat down on the floor, stretching out his bad knee straight. When he moved, though, he accidentally kicked one of the chairs boxing Rosalia into the small space under the table and she jumped. Her eyes flew open and she dropped her stuffed koala. She held up her hands in front of her face like shields and shrank back.

Eliot felt like he’d been hit by a freight train. Someone had hurt this little girl. He let out a breath slowly.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he said quietly, barely more than a whisper. “I accidentally kicked the chair. You’re safe.”

Rosalia stared at him through her fingers, fearfully at first and then more and more calm. After almost half a minute she dropped her hands and collected her koala and held it against her chest once more. She dropped her chin to her chest and buried her mouth in the koala’s fur.

“Are you in school, hon?” Eliot asked, determined to leave on a high note.

Rosalia nodded.

“What’s your favorite part?”

She considered for a long moment, then raised her head just a touch so her chin rested on the top of her koala instead. “Reading time,” she whispered.

Eliot smiled. “Yeah? You like to read?”

Rosalia closed her eyes and smiled and nodded.

“Me too,” Eliot said.

He glanced back and saw Parker and Hardison standing just beyond earshot, looking like they were trying to keep to themselves, and Waylon sitting in his chair right across the room, watching Eliot with a disapproving glare.

Eliot panicked for a moment and started to get up.

“I’ve got to get goin’,” he said quickly. “Great to meet you, Rosalia. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He turned and started to head towards Parker and Hardison, but stopped in his tracks when he heard the sound of several wooden chairs being pushed hurriedly across linoleum. He had half turned back to the table when a small mass crashed into him and latched onto his leg. He looked down to see Rosalia with her arms wrapped tightly around his leg and her face pressed into his hip. Her koala lay forgotten among the chair legs. Eliot heard all the conversation in the room stop suddenly and felt a dozen pairs of eyes on him.

Eliot’s hand automatically went to the crown of Rosalia’s head, petting her hair softly. After a moment his brain caught up and he gently pried her arms off of his leg. He crouched down to be at eye level with her, holding onto her hands. She had her eyes closed and her face turned slightly away, but her lip quivered.

“Hey,” Eliot said softly. “What’s up, punkin?”

“I don’t want you to go,” Rosalia whispered, on the verge of tears.

“It’s alright,” he soothed. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

Rosalia shook her head adamantly.

“What’s wrong?” Eliot asked.

“Can I go with you?” she asked tearfully.

Eliot’s heart broke. He was close enough to Parker and Hardison that they could overhear, and he looked at them for help. Hardison shook his head, wide-eyed. Parker looked heartbroken at the scene in front of her.

“I can’t take you with me, sweetheart,” Eliot said.

Rosalia didn’t say anything, just squeezed her eyes tighter. A couple tears leaked out of her eyes and down her cheeks.

Eliot tested a hunch. “You like livin’ with Aunt Junie and Uncle Hunter?” he asked, lowering his voice.

Rosalia shook her head.

“How come?”

Rosalia opened her eyes, fluttered her fingers, and leaned in closer to whisper in Eliot’s ear. “Uncle Hunter yells.”

Eliot’s jaw clenched automatically and he had to force it to relax. “Does he hit?” he asked.

Rosalia hesitated before nodding once.

Eliot let out a long breath. “I’m sorry sweetheart. That ain’t fair.” He looked around quickly, seeing Laurel June headed their way, and squeezed Rosalia’s hand he still held. “Listen, punkin,” he said quickly. “I’m gonna do everything I can to help you. You believe me?”

Rosalia nodded and he smiled at her.

“Okay, hon,” Laurel June said, putting her hands on Rosalia’s shoulders and prying her gently away from Eliot. “Let’s leave Uncle Danny alone.”

Eliot stood, his knees screaming, and waved his sister off. “It’s fine, Junie, we were just getting acquainted.”

Laurel June gave him a tight smile.

Eliot looked around. There were still people watching him, notably Aunt Lois and Waylon, but most everyone had gone back to their conversations. Parker looked like she itched to be out of there, and Hardison stood awkwardly still next to her.

“We’re probably goin’ to head out,” Eliot told Laurel June.

Eliot half expected Laurel June to try to get him to stay, but she let go of Rosalia and came over, giving him a hug. “Drive safe,” she said. “See you tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Eliot said. He smiled at Rosalia. “I’ll see you tomorrow, alright?”

Rosalia pulled away from Laurel June and collected her koala again, and when Eliot turned away, she had started to climb back under the table.

They quickly said the rest of their goodbyes and left.

On the road, Parker watched Eliot from the passenger seat in the flashes from streetlights. Hardison radiated curiosity, but stayed quiet.

Finally, Hardison spoke up. “That little girl, she in trouble?”

Eliot urged the car a little faster and didn’t answer.

“So she is,” Hardison said.

Eliot sighed. “I need you to hack into social services.” 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings in this chapter for: child abandonment, references to child abuse, drug addiction and overdose, parental death, sibling death, death in childbirth, alcoholism, funerals

_ That’s it, it’s split, it won’t recover  
_ _ Just frame the halves and call them brothers  
_ _Find your fathers and your mothers_  
_If you remember who they are_

“Call Them Brothers”—Regina Spektor feat. Only Son

“Alright,” Hardison said slowly as he pulled up the Oklahoma Department of Human Services website. “Gimme a second to get in… ‘Kay.”

Eliot stood in front of the flat screen television in their hotel suite, Hardison’s desktop displayed on the screen, and scanned the web form.

“Her name’s Rosalia,” he said, pointing to the first field. “Last name is probably Gillespie.”

Hardison typed. “Female,” he mumbled as he ticked a box. “Know her date of birth?”

Eliot hummed a negative. “She’s five, but that’s all I got.” He pointed at a field further down on the page. “Father is Chase Gillespie.”

The typing sounds stopped.

“She’s your niece?” Hardison asked.

“Yeah,” Eliot said. “Mother is Danae Baker.”

Eliot felt Hardison staring at him, but after a long moment he started typing again.

“You know either of their socials or DOBs?” Hardison asked.

“Chase’s is May 9th, ’90,” Eliot said. “Don’t know the rest.”

“What happened to her mom?” Parker asked. She had been quiet the whole car ride, lost in thought.

“Ran off after Rosie was born,” Eliot said, getting angry again. God, he hated the person he was in Oklahoma. “Apparently hasn’t been back since.”

Hardison clicked a couple more boxes and filled in a few more fields, and clicked submit.

“No full matches,” he said, but scrolled through the partial matches anyway. “Here we go. Rosalia Baker. Might be her.”

He clicked through to Rosalia’s DHS files, and Eliot scanned through them. It was definitely her, but the details of prior social worker visits chilled him to the bone.

“Rosalia Nicole Baker,” Hardison read, using his briefing voice. “Born November 12, 2008 to parents Danae Baker (absent) and Chase Evan Gillespie (deceased). Currently residing with godparents Laurel June Classen and Hunter Classen pending a DHS hearing to determine custody.” 

Hardison stopped reading aloud then, getting to the notes further down the page.

Multiple 911 calls by neighbors to Chase’s house for sounds of fighting and evidence of drug abuse. A report by Rosalia’s school nurse about suspicious bruising and low weight for her age. And the last entry, dated October 4th, just last week, stating that a neighbor had called 911 to report another instance of drug use. The police had arrived and found Chase almost dead from an overdose, and he hadn’t made it until the ambulance showed up. The paramedics had found Rosalia in her room, the door locked from the outside, screaming and crying. She had been inconsolable for hours.

Eliot had to sit down, and by the time he finished reading he was a wreck. Parker withdrew again, pulling her knees up to her chest. Hardison had his mouth covered in horror, and when he finished reading, he closed his eyes and put his head in his hands.

It was a long time before any of them could talk. Finally, Hardison cleared his throat, sounding unsettled.

“We gotta help this kid,” he said, his voice almost a croak.

“How?” Eliot asked.

Hardison waved a hand while he thought. “I dunno, can we… get her in therapy?”

Eliot shook his head. “Might be helpful in the long run, but won’t do much for her now. She’s livin’ with Laurel June and Hunter, she’s gonna need more help.”

Parker leaned forward, her eyes fierce. “We need to get her in a different family.”

Eliot ran his hands through his hair anxiously. “Waylon an’ Marcie have filed for custody.”

Hardison’s eyes widened. “Oh, absolutely not.” 

“An’ I’m not lettin’ her get put in foster care,” Eliot said.

“No,” Parker echoed, her voice fierce, “she’d get eaten alive.”

Eliot nudged her with his knee. “You saw it, too?” he asked.

Parker nodded and Hardison asked, “Saw what?”

“She’s autistic,” Parker said.

Hardison chewed on that for a moment, visibly playing back everything he’d witnessed at the house, and nodded. “I see it.”

Parker started nervously chewing on her lip and rubbing hard at her palm with her thumb. “Your Aunt Lois and Uncle Mike?” she asked.

Eliot shook his head. “Aunt Lois said herself she considered it but doesn’t think she could keep up, not with her arthritis as bad as it is and Mike out workin’ all day.”

Hardison blew out a breath. “What about your brother?”

“Seth?” Eliot asked. “Maybe.”

Hardison looked like he had an idea and started typing. Eliot and Parker watched the screen as Hardison did a Google search of Seth’s name. One of the first results was the Oklahoma County Sheriff records office website. Hardison hesitated before clicking through.

“Two DUIs,” Hardison read. He pointed to the screen, at the mug shots. “That him?”

Eliot stared at his brother’s face, older than the last time they’d seen each other but still unmistakable. “Goddamn it, Seth,” he muttered. He cleared his throat and looked at his partners, fresh out of ideas and losing hope. “No judge would sign off on that. Who knows if he’s even up to it. Or worth the chance.”

They were quiet again. Parker chewed on her fingertips, her eyes darting around like she was working a complex equation in her head. Hardison stared at the ground, starting to look defeated.

“You could take her, Eliot,” Parker said quietly, and Eliot wasn’t sure he’d heard her right at first.

Hardison’s head snapped up. “Yeah?”

Eliot furrowed his brow. “What judge would let _ me _ take a kid and not let my brother?”

Parker leaned forward, a plan clearly unfolding in her mind and spreading around her. “Not as _ you. _Daniel Gillespie, though…”

Eliot’s expression didn’t change. “Daniel Gillespie, the _ deserter?” _he asked.

Parker shrugged, her eyes bright now. “Probably wouldn’t even come up. I know custody hearings,” she said matter-of-factly, and neither of her partners disagreed.

“She did say she wanted to go with you, didn’t she?” Hardison pointed out.

“Hang on, settle down,” Eliot said, waving his hands for them to stop. “It wouldn’t just be _ me, _ though,” he said. “I get custody of Rosalia, you’re both involved. The three of us, we’d be her guardians, officially or otherwise. You really want that?”

Hardison nodded immediately, and Eliot was nearly positive he couldn’t talk him out of this if he tried. Parker, though, at least gave it a good long think. And damn but that near minute when she was deliberating was the longest minute of Eliot’s goddamn life.

“I’m in,” Parker said. “If you’re both in, I’m in.”

Hardison leaned forward. “El?” he asked. “Gut feeling, you want to?”

Eliot started to think about it, started to really consider the possibility of going back home after this without Rosalia, going about his business with his crew and then going home to a house where the only other living beings were a dog and a couple of horses. But the alternative…

A bigger house, with Parker and Hardison there, and Rosalia too, of course, and Beate. No more overnight jobs. Packing sack lunches in the mornings. Christmas shopping in the toy aisle. Seeing that smile every day. Knowing that little girl, his brother’s daughter, was safe and taken care of.

It was really no contest.

He smiled, a little breathlessly. “Let’s do it,” he said, and Hardison clapped triumphantly.

“Hell yeah!” Hardison cried.

“Alright, alright,” Eliot said. “How we gonna do it?”

Parker sprang up and grabbed Hardison and Eliot’s wrists and pulled them into the bedroom. She let go to rummage through her suitcase and came up with a dry erase marker, then grabbed their wrists again. Eliot protested and wrenched his arm free and Parker continued on with Hardison into the big main bathroom in the suite, Eliot following a step behind.

She clambered up to kneel on the wide vanity in front of the mirror and drew three boxes at the top.

“I have three cons in mind,” she said. “But we’ll need Sophie and Nate for all of them.”

* * *

Eliot woke up early the next morning and carefully got out of bed. When they shared a bed, Parker tended to curl up against his side and Hardison tended to sleep sprawled out half on top of him on the other side, leaving little room for movement on Eliot’s part, but he managed to extricate himself without waking either of them as far as he could tell.

He pulled on jeans and padded barefoot into the living room of the suite, grabbing his laptop on the way and setting it up at the far end of the room where he hopefully wouldn’t be loud enough to wake Parker and Hardison. He brewed a pot of coffee while the computer booted up and shot off a quick text to Nate saying he was ready once he’d connected to Hardison’s wifi. A couple minutes later the Skype ringtone played and he accepted the call.

Just as before, Sophie’s face filled the screen when the call connected, but unlike her excited smile last week, she looked panicked.

_ “Eliot!” _ she cried. She moved backwards and over a bit and Nate’s quietly worried face joined hers. _ “Eliot, are you alright?” _

Eliot abruptly remembered that the last he’d spoken to either of them was the night Chase died, when he had hung up on them in the middle of getting the news. He’d forgotten about or ignored all of their texts since then, until last night.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m alright, don’t worry,” he said, waving his hand in a placating gesture.

_ “What happened?” _ Sophie asked, at the same time Nate, peering at the screen, asked, _ “Where are you?” _

Eliot elected to answer Nate’s question first. It was the easier one. “I’m in Oklahoma. Well, _ we _are.”

_ “Why?” _Nate asked.

Eliot hesitated long enough that Sophie said, _ “That call you got the other night…” _

Eliot let out a breath and bit the bullet. “That was my aunt calling. My youngest brother died. She was giving me the news.”

Both of their faces instantly went from nervous to sympathetic.

_ “Oh, Eliot, I’m so sorry,” _ Sophie breathed. _ “How old was he?” _

“Twenty-two,” Eliot answered. “Heroin overdose.”

Nate closed his eyes, looking pained.

_ “That’s awful,” _ Sophie said. _ “And you’re in Oklahoma for the funeral, is it?” _

“Yeah, it’s today,” Eliot said. “But, uh, I actually have a kinda different reason for calling. Chase, my brother, he… had a daughter. Rosalia. She’s five.”

It was Sophie’s turn to look pained, but Nate furrowed his brow.

_ “She’s five? And your brother was twenty-two…” _

“He got a girl pregnant when he was in high school,” Eliot explained. “The girl ran off right after giving birth.”

Nate’s eyebrows raised, and then he had a realization that Sophie reached a second sooner.

_ “And now the daughter…” _Sophie trailed off.

“Effectively orphaned,” Eliot confirmed. “But, uh, me an’ Parker an’ Hardison talked it over last night. She’s stayin’ with my sister and her husband right now, but it’s not a good place. The husband’s abusive, an’ both Rosie an’ Junie are afraid of him.”

_ “Ah,” _Nate said, looking troubled.

“An’ my father and stepmom, they’re filin’ for custody, but that ain’t good either. So we decided we’re gonna…” Eliot trailed off, making a vague motion.

_ “You’re filing for custody?” _Sophie guessed.

Parker suddenly hopped over the back of the sofa, landing next to Eliot smoothly and startling him for the first time in years.

“No, Daniel Gillespie is filing for custody,” she said.

_ “Hello Parker,” _Nate said pointedly.

“Hi,” Parker said shortly.

_ “And Daniel Gillespie is…?” _Sophie asked.

“Me,” Eliot said. “My birth name.”

Nate considered this, then nodded. _ “You’re going to need a solid plan for that. Custody hearings are in family court, so not the most rigorous legal process, but when you get family in the mix…” _

Parker nodded once, firmly. “That’s why we need both of you. Fresh faces for grifty things.”

Nate looked triumphant and Sophie grimaced. _ “Ha!” _ Nate said to Sophie. _ “I win.” _

“What’s goin’ on?” Eliot demanded.

_ “We had a bet going, see. I thought it would take you six weeks or less from our wedding day to ask us to help you with some job or another. She thought it would be longer.” _

_ “Forgive me for believing in them more than you do,” _Sophie said.

“What’d you win?” Parker asked.

Sophie winked. _ “Nothing you need to know about.” _

Eliot grimaced. “Listen, are you in or not?”

Sophie and Nate had a silent conversation that lasted an impressively long time, and turned back to their computer.

_ “We can get on a plane by this evening, with any luck,” _Nate said.

“Forget luck,” Parker said. “We’ll get Hardison to get you tickets.”

Sophie smiled. _ “That would be lovely, thank you.” _

_ “And a hotel room too, yeah?” _ Nate asked. _ “Wherever you’re staying is fine.” _

“Okay, but we’ve got the Presidential Suite,” Parker said.

_ “That’s fine,” _Nate said.

_ “Text us with the details soon, okay?” _ Sophie asked. _ “We’re gonna go pack.” _

Eliot gave a thumbs up and started to hang up.

_ “Wait,” _ Nate said. _ “Uh, where’d you get Eliot Spencer from?” _

“From Victor Dubenich, six years ago,” Parker said, and cracked up at her own joke.

“Knock it off,” Eliot said, rolling his eyes and shoving her away. “Eliot’s from an old alias when I was in Special Forces. Spencer’s my hometown.”

_ “Spencer, Oklahoma,” _Nate deadpanned.

“Yep.”

_ “Interesting. Okay, well, let us know the details,” _he said, and they hung up after short goodbyes.

Eliot closed his laptop and sat back heavily, abruptly remembering that the next obstacle of the day was the funeral, and that was a significantly more difficult obstacle than calling Nate and Sophie.

Parker watched him for a moment, then leaned back as well. Eliot put his arm around her and reeled her in to lean on his shoulder. She protested faintly but didn’t move. Eliot closed his eyes.

“Thanks for comin’ with me,” he said.

Parker shrugged. “Why wouldn’t we?”

Eliot let that go unanswered, unsure whether it was actually rhetorical.

“Did I wake you up?” he asked a few minutes later.

“No,” Parker said. “Hardison’s snoring did. And I heard you talking out here.” She was quiet for a second and then snickered. “I startled you.”

Eliot took his arm back and shoved her away lightly. “I didn’t even know you were awake, shut up.”

* * *

The funeral was at a tiny church in Spencer, one of several Eliot remembered going to in his childhood. The building was barely big enough for a sanctuary seating sixty, a Sunday school room, an office, and a bathroom. Hell of a choice for a funeral. Eliot guessed his father thought there wouldn’t be much of a turnout.

Eliot left Parker and Hardison in the parking lot with everyone else who wasn’t family and went inside. The family was meeting in the Sunday school room, and Eliot had to force himself not to look down the center aisle in the sanctuary at the casket up by the altar as he crossed the hall and ducked into the classroom.

Unlike the day before, the quiet chatter didn’t stop when he walked in, and he was immensely grateful for that. Marcie, over by the window, waved at him but didn’t stop talking to her sister. Eliot stopped just inside the door to look around, and almost immediately he saw who he was looking for; Seth stood awkwardly apart from everyone near a rack of cubbies, his hands shoved deep in his pockets and his shoulders hunched, staring at the ground. Eliot walked over to him, hoping more than anything else in that moment that Seth would actually talk to him. As he approached, Seth looked up.

Eliot had seen Seth’s face in his mug shots, but those were from five and seven years ago now. He hadn’t changed all that much from when they were kids. He still had the same stick-straight tawny hair, dark circles under his eyes, and thin face. He wasn’t as scrawny now, at least, and he’d gotten taller. In the instant between seeing Eliot and recognizing him, he looked desolate. And then, in the instant after recognition hit him, he went from happiness, to anger, to weariness and shoved off the wall.

Eliot half expected Seth to deck him. And he would have deserved it, too. But Seth just took two long strides to meet Eliot halfway and hugged him tight, locking his arms around Eliot’s shoulders. Eliot hugged back, surprised but unwilling to break whatever this spell was.

“Where’ve you been, Danny?” Seth mumbled into Eliot’s neck.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” Eliot whispered back into Seth’s hair.

Seth held on for what felt like forever, but eventually pulled back. His eyes were red and he embarrassedly wiped at a tear that had leaked out.

Seth cleared his throat. “Uh. Laurel June told me you’d come,” he said. “Last night, I mean. I couldn’t—I—”

“Don’t worry about it,” Eliot interrupted. “I’d’a done the same thing.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” Seth said. He was right and they both knew it.

“…Fine, alright,” Eliot conceded. “How’ve you been?” he asked awkwardly.

Seth looked away and shrugged. “Fine. Livin’ in the city now. It’s… better. You?”

“Portland. Got engaged. The whole nine,” Eliot said shortly, unsure how to talk to Seth after so many years, especially given their last conversation.

Seth raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Congrats man.”

“Yeah,” Eliot said. They were quiet, Eliot trying to think of something else to talk about and Seth apparently waiting for him.

Seth sighed and threw Eliot a bone. He leaned in and angled his shoulders just slightly in a way that told Eliot he should look to his right. “Jack’s over there,” he said.

Eliot looked to his right carefully. His years as a lurker gave him an advantage and he saw Jack without alerting anyone else to his attention. Jack looked like he hadn’t changed a damn bit since Eliot last saw him a couple months after his wedding to Meg. He had the same dumb mustache and willowy build. Clinging to each of his sides was a kid, Hannah on his left, Chris on his right. All three of them looked out of place and deeply uncomfortable.

Eliot turned back to Seth. “I’m gonna…” he trailed off and pointed towards Jack.

Seth nodded quickly. “No, yeah, go ahead. Let’s get together before you head back.”

“Yeah,” Eliot agreed. His usual ‘let’s get a beer’ line died on his tongue as he remembered Seth’s two DUIs. “We’ll get dinner one of these nights,” he said instead.

Eliot patted Seth on the arm as he walked over to Jack and the kids. Jack looked surprised to see him.

“Danny?” Jack asked, like he barely recognized him, and that was probably the case. It had been sixteen years, and Eliot was a very different person in both looks and personality now.

“Jack,” Eliot said, and gave a small smile, almost apologetic.

Jack stared for a long second, open mouthed, at a loss for words, but closed his mouth and nudged his kids. “Uh, Hannah, Chris, this is your Uncle Danny.”

Hannah looked unsure up at her dad and then, getting an encouraging smile and nod from him, held out her hand to Eliot. “Hi,” she said.

Eliot shook her hand and gave her a smile of his own. “Nice to meet you.”

Chris just waved shyly, and it took Eliot a moment to be able to wave back.

Meg had died in childbirth with Chris. Eliot had tried so hard not to blame him for her death, and had mostly succeeded, but it still pained him to meet Chris for the first time. He looked so much like his mom, with the same light brown hair and blue eyes. He even wore his hair long and pulled back into a ponytail like she had.

Jack hesitated and then nudged his kids again. “Why don’t you go say hi to your Great Aunt Lois?” he suggested. “She’s going to want to hear about your new belts.”

Chris scurried off, followed a second later by Hannah, who waved at Eliot once more.

“Karate,” Jack explained. “Chris just got his orange belt and Hannah’s taking the green test soon.”

Eliot smiled awkwardly. “Good on them. You let me know if they ever want some extra instruction.”

Jack hesitated. “Danny—”

“Wait, Jack,” Eliot interrupted, holding up a hand. “I know. I’m so sorry, I couldn’t get—”

“Danny,” Jack interrupted back. “What the hell happened?”

He looked genuinely concerned and it stopped Eliot’s excuses in their tracks. He remembered again why he’d always liked Jack; he was so different from the rest of the men in his family. Meg had picked a good one.

Eliot let out a difficult breath. “I—I just couldn’t, Jack,” he said quietly. “She was my best friend. I couldn’t see her like that.”

Jack smiled and nodded sadly. “She was mine, too.” He fell silent and his eyes got a faraway look in them. “It was a beautiful service,” he murmured. “You should have seen it.”

Eliot felt his eyes starting to burn and he looked away. He scanned the room, letting his eyes go through their automatic perimeter search but not putting any brainpower behind it, willing the lump rising in his throat to die down.

Jack cleared his throat awkwardly. “It’s good to see you,” he said.

“Yeah, you too,” Eliot said automatically. He leaned in a little and lowered his voice. “Hey, if you don’t mind me askin’, I heard you’re not letting Marcie and Waylon see the kids?”

Jack blew out a long breath. “Yeah,” he said shortly. “It—it’s petty, I know—”

“No,” Eliot interrupted. “No, I wouldn’t either.”

Jack looked relieved. “It’s so good to hear you say that.”

“I imagine it’s not a popular decision ‘round here,” Eliot said, and Jack huffed out a laugh.

“No it is not,” he said. “Grandparents denied their ‘right’ to see their grandchildren ‘cuz they happened to beat their own children in the past,” Jack said with a mock-scandalized voice, and Eliot stifled a laugh and turned it into a cough instead.

Jack hurriedly hid his smile as Eliot’s cousin Kenny walked close by and nodded at the two of them. Eliot waited until they were alone again and leaned back in.

“I meant it though, about the funeral,” he said. “I regret not going now. I’m sorry for not bein’ there.”

Jack’s mouth pressed into a hard line and he nodded. “Yeah,” he said, and then seemed to shake himself off. “Hey, let’s put off that talk for now. One funeral at a time. Answer me one question, though?”

“Anything,” Eliot said, and he meant it as long as it wouldn’t blow his cover.

“Are you… okay now?”

Eliot hadn’t expected that question from anyone in his family, much less someone he was only related to by marriage. His mouth started to form words a couple of times but his throat wouldn’t make sounds come out, and he had to clear his throat to actually answer.

“I am,” he said, and with some surprise he realized it was true, more or less. “Better, at least. Got a life outside the Army and friends and a fiancée and all that, and it’s helping.” As an afterthought he added hurriedly, “Are you?”

Jack took a long moment to consider, and then nodded. “Yes. Better for having reconciled with you. Better for some validation from Meg’s favorite sibling that I’m doing the right thing keeping our kids away from Marcie and Waylon. Better for time and distance.”

Eliot huffed out a laugh. “Ain’t that the truth.”

He saw movement in his peripheral vision and turned his head to see Rosalia sprinting at him with enough time to brace himself before she slammed into him. She latched onto his leg like she had last night but this time she smiled up at him.

“Hey punkin,” Eliot said with a wide smile. He held out his hands, palms up. “Wanna come up?”

Rosie let go of his leg and raised her arms. Eliot picked her up and rested her against his hip, almost thankful that she was small for her age.

“How you been?” he asked.

Rosalia shrugged, scanning the room from her new vantage point, chewing on the inside of her cheeks. Eliot looked at Jack, who smiled and waved silently as he left, probably to find his kids.

“Hey,” Eliot said quietly. “You ‘member how I said last night I was gonna help you out?”

Rosalia nodded and craned her neck to see over his shoulder better.

“I’m gonna give you something, okay?”

Eliot was near a rack of cubbies, one of which had a bin of crayons in it, and he grabbed a crayon at random. With his free hand he rummaged around in his pockets until he found a scrap of paper, a business card with an old alias on it. He flipped it over and wrote his cell phone number down as neatly as he could with a five year old occupying one of his arms. He handed it to Rosie, who took it with both hands and peered at it.

“You know how to use the phone?” he asked.

“Push the numbers and then the green button,” she answered, her eyes not leaving the business card.

“Very good. Now, that’s my phone number,” Eliot said. “You ever feel scared or like you’re not safe I want you to call that number and I’ll help. You understand?”

Rosalia nodded, still holding the card with her fingertips daintily touching all four corners.

“You got somewhere to hide that at Aunt Junie’s house?” Eliot asked.

Rosalia thought about it. “My backpack?”

“That’s a good place, yeah. When you get to Aunt Junie’s house later I want you to put that card in your backpack. Can you do that for me?”

She hummed what sounded like an affirmative.

“Your dress got pockets?”

Rosalia finally broke her stare at the card and let go of it as both her hands started feeling around for pockets in her dress. The card fluttered to the ground and Eliot narrowly avoided cursing under his breath. It would be impossible to pick it up without putting Rosie down.

Just as he was about to set her down Seth stepped up and stooped to pick up the card. He handed it to Eliot and gave him a light punch on the arm as he walked away.

“Thanks,” Eliot called over his shoulder.

Rosie was now mesmerized by a pocket she found, so Eliot nudged her until he had her attention.

“Put it in your pocket for now and leave it there, ‘kay?”

As Rosalia carefully put the card in her pocket Laurel June joined them, looking like she’d barely slept last night.

“Hey,” Laurel June said, a little breathlessly. “I was wondering where she’d run off to.”

“She’s been with me.”

“You don’t say,” Laurel June said drily. She pointed over her shoulder. “I just heard Pastor Mark say we’re starting soon. Better start lining up with whoever you’re sitting next to.”

Eliot raised an eyebrow and she caught herself.

“You can sit with me, if you want,” she offered. “Rosie’s sitting with me anyway and I bet she’ll want you nearby.” She sounded almost bitter.

“Excuse me,” a well-dressed middle aged man called to the room. “We’re about to head in but I’d like to lead a short prayer just for this group.”

Eliot stood awkwardly with his eyes open and his niece on his hip as his entire family of origin bowed their heads in prayer. The man who had spoken, probably the pastor, led a prayer, and the whole experience was familiar, but held no emotional weight for Eliot anymore. Any faith he had once held was essentially gone now, replaced by numb memories of countless Sundays in uncomfortable wooden pews and summers at church camp, hollow recitations of the Lord’s Prayer out of muscle memory, doubts left unanswered, and the visceral sense-memory of his baptism by immersion left void of higher meaning, a lukewarm bath fully clothed with an old man holding his nose and forty people crying. 

“Amen,” the pastor said.

“Amen,” the rest of the room echoed, and Eliot found the word on his lips as well.

“Alright,” the pastor said. “We got the first three rows on each side marked out for family. Once everyone gets situated we’ll open the main doors and let everyone else in.”

Laurel June gestured for Eliot to put Rosie down, but the girl clung to his shirt and Laurel June gave up, lining up next to Hunter. Eliot joined them grudgingly, and Seth got in line next.

In the sanctuary Eliot finally pried Rosalia off of him and sat her next to him. His breath caught in his throat as he picked up the program sitting in his spot on the pew and saw Chase for the first time in fifteen years, a candid shot on the front of the page, smiling widely up at the camera, a baby wrapped in a pink blanket in front of him in a hospital bassinet.

As the service started Eliot expected to cry. He’d broken his streak of several years without crying last week, after all. Instead, as the first hymn rose in the air, fifty voices reverberating around the small sanctuary unaccompanied, he became numb. It was a familiar, horrible feeling.

Rosalia’s eyes never left the casket, and Eliot felt compelled to go up and close the lid, keep her from seeing the body, but his limbs wouldn’t move, his hands still holding the program gingerly.

Seth, sitting to Eliot’s right, breathed deeply and slowly through the entire service, his hands braced on his knees, his eyes trained on the hymnal tucked in the back of the pew in front of them. Marcie, sitting in the front row, wept quietly. Waylon’s face was a hard mask with an unreadable expression.

The service was mercifully short. The preacher had prepared a sermon about asking forgiveness and seeking help when one felt out of control. It was a little too on the nose and if Eliot could have felt anything at all he would have felt offended at how little sympathy there was in his voice.

No one spoke except the preacher. No one gave readings or stories or a eulogy. Just the hymns, unaccompanied by instruments, the sermon in silence, and the quiet sobs and sniffles of fifty people mourning.

As the pallbearers, all cousins (Eliot and Seth had not been asked, nor had Jack), came up to the front, Eliot took a deep breath, echoed in almost perfect unison by his brother next to him, and let it out in a rush as the lid of the casket thudded closed. Rosalia shot to her feet, her view of her father suddenly gone and her eyes welling up with tears. Eliot beckoned to her and she crawled into his lap and let him hold her tightly.

The casket was lifted and carried out, and the family followed. Eliot carried Rosie, his shoulder protesting, unwilling to make her walk. They passed Parker and Hardison near the back. Parker gave him a thumbs up despite her ashen face and Hardison gave him an encouraging smile, and Eliot had to look away from them as the numbness slipped and a flash of pain stabbed at his heart. They could do this. He could do this.

The pallbearers slid the casket into the hearse and everyone lingered around the parking lot as if unsure what to do next, until the friends and neighbors in the audience began exiting the church. Marcie, strangely grounded, herded everyone into a loose receiving line and Eliot put Rosie down. Laurel June led her further down the line to stand with her and Hunter near Marcie and Waylon, and Eliot made an annoyed face at Seth.

“Dunno why she doesn’t trust me with Rosie. You’d think I deserted the Army an’ left town for fifteen years or somethin’,” Eliot muttered under his breath to his brother, and Seth looked for a moment like he would laugh, but the gravity of the situation brought him back down.

When Parker came through the line she put away her “grieving for lost brothers” face and put her Erin face on instead, one with bright eyes and permanently slightly-raised eyebrows. It was weird and decidedly un-Parker, but not weird enough to look fake. She had a perfect sad, sympathetic smile, and Eliot wondered when Sophie had taught her that one. As she came up to Eliot she dropped back into her regular expressions and squeezed his hands.

“You okay?” she asked quietly.

Eliot shrugged. “More or less,” he replied.

“We’ll be waiting by the car,” she said, and got back into character.

Hardison was next, and he gave Eliot a tight hug. “Anything we can do?” he asked when he pulled back.

Eliot gave him a half-smile and leaned in. “Yeah, hold still, I gotta punch somethin’.”

Hardison rolled his eyes. “Shoot, you’re fine, why am I worrying about you.”

They continued on down the line and Eliot put himself back together as people he didn’t know told him how sorry they were for his loss.

Far fewer people came to the cemetery than had come to the church part. The graveside service, like the sermon earlier, was short, and no one but the pastor spoke. Rosie, her hands twisted together in front of her, cried quietly. Marcie’s tears finally seemed genuine, and Eliot had a brief moment of feeling sorry for her. She’d lost her son.

Eliot put up his walls again; the ragged hole in his chest would kill him if he felt all the things he should have been feeling right then. The wall began to crumble as the casket was lowered down into the grave and the preacher said those familiar words _ ashes to ashes, dust to dust, _and he remembered.

Eliot remembered the day Marcie had gone into labor with Chase. He had been eleven. Marcie had waited a couple of hours after her water broke to tell Waylon, and he’d frantically driven her to the hospital, but Chase had almost been born on the side of the highway. They’d left the rest of the kids at home, Meg in charge and Eliot considering sneaking out to join his friends at the school to raise some hell. Meg had found out, put her foot down, and was giving him a stern talking-to when the phone interrupted them and she announced to her siblings that they had a baby brother.

Eliot remembered the first time he’d held Chase, later that night. He was a seasoned pro at holding babies by then; Laurel June was still a baby, and Eliot was stuck holding down the fort when their parents went out and Meg deputized him so she could go hang out in the sporting goods section of the Walmart with her friends. Eliot had held his new brother carefully, already aware enough that he knew this was a bad family to be a kid in. He’d made a silent, unspoken promise to Chase to keep him safe.

Eliot remembered the day Chase, aged six, had hit him hard, square in the chest out of frustration, upset about Eliot enforcing their parents’ rules. Eliot had lunged to grab Chase’s wrist and raised his own hand to hit back, and had watched in horror as Chase scrambled out of the way, terrified, and Eliot saw a bruised and battered kid who was just as frustrated as Eliot was that he couldn’t control his impulses. He’d lowered his hand, let go of Chase, and locked himself alone in their room for half an hour to break down.

Eliot remembered his last day in Spencer, not too long after graduating high school, saying goodbye to his family before getting on a bus. He hadn’t said it to anyone, but he was considering just not coming back and starting over. Chase had thrown a fit, all but begging Eliot to stay, and when Eliot refused, he’d sprinted back into the house and slammed his bedroom door closed. Eliot had winced as he saw Waylon’s expression darken, knowing Chase was in for it later. He’d wanted to talk to Chase, but he had been running late as it was, so he left without a real goodbye.

Eliot remembered the last time he’d spoken to Chase, the day after Meg died. Seth had somehow tracked down his number and called to give him the news. Eliot had been working for Moreau then and hadn’t had time to stop and grieve, so he’d hung up on Seth. Chase had called back later to yell at him and had called him a coward, then hung up, beginning the silence between Eliot and his brothers. Eliot had pushed it all down, because he’d known that if Moreau saw him affected by it he’d have asked questions, and Eliot couldn’t risk him knowing where his family lived. He’d left Moreau a month later. He had been twenty-seven. Chase had been just fifteen.

The casket hit bottom with a dull _ thud _ and Eliot’s breath hitched in his throat. Chase was gone, really gone, and his daughter was alone in the world.

He allowed himself until he and his partners were back in the car to not be okay, then put up his walls. They had work to do. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings in this chapter for: emotional abuse and passive aggression, trauma reactions, past child abuse resulting in bad injuries

_ Spin me round again and rub my eyes  
_ _ This can’t be happening  
_ _ When busy streets  
_ _ A mess with people_  
_Would stop to hold their heads heavy_

“Hide and Seek”—Imogen Heap

“We shoulda got a van,” Hardison grumbled, trying to fold his long limbs into the backseat more comfortably.

Eliot stretched his arms lazily. He had plenty of room in the driver’s seat. “We don’t need a van. This is basic recon.”

“Don’t need a—you kidding me? Do you _ know _ what I keep in Lucille?” Hardison asked.

It was night now, several hours after the funeral, and Eliot and Hardison were camped out in their rental car. They were parked down the street from Laurel June’s house while Parker sneaked around inside planting what few bugs and cameras Hardison had handy. Laurel June, Rosie, and Hunter were out, still at the wake at Marcie and Waylon’s house, so Parker was traipsing around in the dark for no reason.

“Nerd crap, probably,” Eliot said, and felt Hardison staring at the back of his head.

“Cameras and microphones for surveillance,” Hardison listed, growing increasingly more agitated. “Night vision _ and _ infrared cameras, plus night vision goggles. Extra chargers for _ all yall’s _ electronics and whatnot, you’re _ welcome. _ Emergency supplies. Extra comms. First aid kits that only _ you _ ever seem to need. All the stuff we need to pass for police and FBI and whatnot. You know what? Extra identities for all of us, just in case. My new and improved EMP blaster. A week’s supply of gummy frogs, cereal, and orange soda. And lastly, my computers, with a permanent low-latency satellite internet connection _ and _ its own local wireless network. Lucille could take you to the _ moon _ and still get you good enough wifi to play _ Warcraft _with next to no lag.”

Eliot shrugged. “Like I said. Nerd crap.”

Hardison made a strangled noise and lunged forward like he was trying to climb over the center console and into the front seat to fight Eliot. Eliot fought him off and shoved him firmly into the backseat again just in time to see headlights turn onto the street. He jammed himself down in his seat, banging his knees against the underside of the dash, and shushed Hardison.

“Get down,” he hissed, and heard a small scramble in the backseat and then they were both still, holding their breaths and listening hard.

The roads in Spencer weren’t very good, little more than gravel roads here in the neighborhoods, and they heard the crunch of crumbling pavement as the car passed theirs towards Laurel June’s house. It was dark, and the headlights pointing their way had obscured the make and model, but Eliot could have sworn the headlights had a similar shape as Hunter’s SUV.

“Parker, we might have company,” Eliot said quietly.

_ “Where?” _Parker asked.

“On the road. Gimme a second but get ready to go.”

He sat up carefully in his seat until he could see through the back windshield. The SUV slowed when it was a couple houses past their rental car, turned, and slowly backed into Laurel June’s driveway.

“Yeah, it’s them. You gotta get out,” Eliot said, sitting up so he could more easily watch for Parker.

_ “Which way?” _she hissed, sounding panicked.

Eliot watched the SUV slow and come to a stop just before passing the front of the house.

_ “Eliot, which way?” _Parker asked again.

“They’re going in the front,” Eliot guessed. “Come out a window on the west side or go through the back,” he instructed.

Parker fell silent, and with most people Eliot would have been worried about that. But silence in Parker’s case usually just meant she was focused, or content, or asleep. Nothing to worry about.

Eliot kept watch just in case. Laurel June got out of the passenger side and helped Rosie out of the backseat and they headed towards the front door, followed a step behind by Hunter. It was dark, but Eliot could tell that Rosalia was almost asleep on her feet. She kept bumping into Laurel June’s legs as she stopped to unlock the front door or check the mailbox under the front window, and Laurel June herded her inside gently. Eliot found himself smiling despite his watch. Laurel June would be a great mom, if her husband was taken out of the picture.

The door closed behind them and Eliot held his breath until he heard Parker’s quiet voice in his ear.

_ “Pick me up at the corner,” _she said, and Eliot complied automatically.

“I want shotgun on the way back,” Hardison said as they drove slowly away from the house, their lights still off.

_ “Nope,” _ Parker said. _ “I get shotgun.” _

“That permanent shotgun dibs was unfair and you know it,” Hardison grumbled.

Parker opened the door and got in, already taking her earbud out as she sat in the passenger seat. “You’re just mad you didn’t think of it first.”

“No, I’m mad because _ permanent shotgun isn’t a thing,” _Hardison said.

“Knock it off, both of you,” Eliot griped, driving down the street towards a house with a stuffed mailbox he’d seen on their way in.

“Tell her it’s not a thing!”

“You know damn well I can’t make Parker do anything she doesn’t wanna do,” Eliot said, and Parker beamed and puffed her chest out. “An’ I’m not even gonna try with somethin’ as stupid as who sits in the passenger seat. Now, are the feeds up or not?”

Hardison muttered under his breath as he pulled out his laptop. Eliot couldn’t parse most of his grumbling, but heard, “playing favorites,” and, “first fake engaged and _ now…” _

He quieted down as he typed, getting into the zone and forgetting his annoyance. Eliot parked in the driveway of the house whose owners were probably on vacation and turned the car off.

“Okay,” Hardison said after a minute or two. “Cameras are up. What are we looking at?”

“One in the kitchen, one in the living room, one in the hallway,” Parker said. “And microphones in the bedrooms, the garage, and the laundry room.”

“Trying to connect the microphones… these aren’t my good ones,” Hardison said. “Come on… There we go.”

He turned the computer and himself in the seat so Parker and Eliot could see if they contorted themselves around, too. It wouldn’t be possible for very long; they were going to head back to the hotel soon, but until they knew for sure that the camera positions wouldn’t need tweaking, they were staying put.

In the short amount of time since they’d walked in the door, Hunter had shed his jacket and shoes, and they lay near the front door as he sprawled out in the easy chair with the television on and his feet up. Rosalia sat stiffly on the end of the couch farthest from her uncle, her knees drawn up to her chest and her arms wrapped tight around them, but her eyes were sleepy and her head nodded slightly. Laurel June was dutifully picking up Hunter’s shoes and jacket.

There was no sound, and Hardison cursed quietly and pulled the laptop back to face him. “Forgot to connect the audio for the cameras.” He typed, and Parker made a face at Eliot.

_ “—tellin’ you, Junie, Levi’s not cut out for it like I am,” _they heard as the sound started playing over the tinny laptop speakers, and Hardison hummed contentedly and turned the laptop back.

Hunter was still sprawled out in his chair, but had rested one hand behind his head and watched Laurel June pick up after him lazily.

_ “Oh,” _ Laurel June said politely. _ “Rosie, hon, go get changed for bed.” _

Rosalia slowly got up and trudged back further into the house, carrying her stuffed koala by one paw. Hunter scrutinized Laurel June.

_ “’Oh’?” _he repeated.

_ “Oh, I’m sorry, sweetheart,” _ Laurel June said shyly as she hung up Hunter’s jacket on a coat rack next to the front door. _ “Just a lot on my mind. I’m listenin’, I swear.” _

Hunter seemed satisfied by this. _ “So I’m goin’ for it. Tossin’ my name in the hat tomorrow,” _he said, and paused for effect, grinning at his wife. She didn’t see, and his smile fell.

_ “That’s great!” _ Laurel June said hurriedly, after turning around a second too late. _ “You’d be perfect for it.” _

Hunter was again assuaged. _ “I would, wouldn’t I? And then, we could afford for you to quit work.” _ He squinted at the television, completely missing Laurel June freezing and glancing at him worriedly. _ “Maybe even get some better sports channels on this damn thing.” _

Laurel June licked her lips, and Eliot recognized her nervous habit from childhood. Guess she’d never grown out of it.

_ “Sounds great,” _she said, and went into the kitchen.

Hunter frowned at her back, but turned back to whatever he was watching. Hardison clicked back and forth between the kitchen and living room for the next couple of minutes, watching Laurel June wash some dishes that looked already clean and Hunter rearrange himself in his chair several times and pick his nose.

“We can head back,” Eliot said, but just as he said that, Rosalia entered the living room in her pajamas and stopped dead in the doorway, seeing Hunter and not Laurel June. Hardison’s hand moved toward the keyboard, and Eliot held out a hand to stop him. “Hang on.”

Hunter saw Rosalia and smirked. He beckoned her over and she dithered for a second before walking slowly to stand just beyond arm’s reach of his chair, again holding her koala up like a shield in front of her chest. He sat up slightly and leaned closer to her.

_ “You’re gonna help me get that promotion, little girl,” _ he said quietly, almost too low for the camera’s microphone to pick up, and Eliot felt a chill. What the _ hell _was that supposed to mean?

Rosie apparently felt the same chill, because she looked unsettled and took an unconscious step back.

“The hell?” Hardison muttered.

Parker stared blankly at the screen, and Eliot was about to ask her if she was okay when Laurel June reentered the room, drying a plate with a dish towel.

_ “Oh, honey, you can wait in your room, I’ll come tuck you in in a minute. Brush your teeth first, though, okay?” _

Rosalia all but ran off, and Eliot let out a breath.

Hunter scrutinized Laurel June, and as she turned away to put the plate down he put the footrest of his recliner down and shoved himself up to follow her. Eliot tensed as Hunter stood in the doorway to the kitchen, effectively blocking Laurel June from leaving.

_ “You don’t seem very happy for me,” _he accused, his voice and face doing an impressive job at staying neutral.

Laurel June flinched and nearly dropped the plate she had just picked up. _ “I-I am, baby,” _ she said pleadingly. _ “I just… My brother’s funeral was today. Lot on my mind, you know?” _She smiled at Hunter sadly, her eyes begging him to accept the excuse and leave her alone.

Hunter nodded, not looking pleased with the excuse. _ “You’re right, Junie,” _ he said. _ “It was a long day. You can be happy for me tomorrow.” _

He turned and left without another word and Laurel June’s pleading expression became panicked. She picked up a glass, floundered, and put it down, wiped her hands on the dish towel, and hurried back into the living room.

_ “I-I’m sorry,” _ she said nervously. _ “I really am happy for you. I should have showed it more.” _

Hunter had almost sat back in his chair, but at her entrance he came close, his whole demeanor changing, becoming soft and tender. He cradled her face in his hands and kissed her forehead, then pulled her into a hug that could have been warm if Laurel June had looked like she was enjoying it.

_ “You’re not telling me something,” _ Hunter accused softly, still hugging her. _ “You can tell me anything, Junie, you know that.” _

He pulled back and looked expectantly at her, holding her hands, and she smiled nervously. _ “I’m, uh,” _ she started, lost her nerve, and then found it again after a deep breath. _ “I just don’t know if I wanna stop workin’.” _

Hunter’s face darkened and he disengaged from her completely. _ “Why not?” _ he asked, sounding offended. _ “You don’t think I can get this promotion?” _

Laurel June gasped and shook her head hard. _ “No! That’s not what I meant at all—” _

_ “You don’t think I could support us without your salary?” _

_ “No!” _ Laurel June cried, louder. _ “I just don’t know what I’d do all day!” _

Hunter raised himself up to his full height. _ “Don’t you dare raise your voice at me,” _he said, his voice low and dangerous.

Parker heaved her door open and bolted into the night.

“Parker!” Hardison called after her in surprise. He shoved the laptop into Eliot’s hands and scrambled out of the car. _ “Parker!” _Eliot heard him hissing through his earbud.

_ “I’m sorry!” _Laurel June was saying, almost in tears. Eliot moved the laptop so he could see the screen better, a knot in his stomach telling him he’d surely see Hunter with a fist full of his sister’s hair. He didn’t, though. Just Hunter dropping the matter entirely, stalking deeper into the house and slamming a door. 

Eliot heard Hardison start to run, his breathing becoming erratic embarrassingly soon and his heavy footfalls stopping at random intervals so he could catch his breath. Eliot watched Laurel June steady herself against the back of the couch, smooth her hair, scrub at her eyes, and compose herself.

_ “El, I lost her,” _ Hardison panted a couple minutes later. _ “She’s gone.” _

Eliot let out a difficult breath.

“Come on back to the car,” he said. “She’ll come back when she’s ready.”

_ “What if she doesn’t?” _

Eliot followed Laurel June on the cameras as she walked on shaky legs deeper into the house and knocked on Rosalia’s door.

“She will,” he said confidently.

A couple minutes later Hardison slid into the passenger seat. Eliot chose not to make him sit in the backseat, not now.

“Is everything alright inside?” Hardison asked, swiveling the laptop on the console so he could see it.

“Junie’s in with Rosie,” Eliot said. “Readin’ a bedtime story together.”

“Hunter?”

“In the other bedroom. Stormed off.”

Hardison nodded, paused, shrugged. “Not ideal, but it coulda been a lot worse.”

Eliot stared at him.

“Hey, listen,” Hardison said, putting his hands up. “It coulda been. Small blessings, man.”

Eliot sighed tiredly. “We can’t leave yet.”

“No,” Hardison said. “Unless Parker stole a car and headed back to the hotel.”

Eliot reclined his seat a few inches and leaned back. He scrubbed his hands over his eyes. “We could be here a while.”

Hardison made himself comfortable too, and clicked through the feeds a couple of times. Everything was calm now. Laurel June was reading _ Good Night Moon _ to Rosalia, her voice gradually getting quieter.

After a few minutes Hardison nudged Eliot.

“You really ready for this?” he asked.

“What, gettin’ custody of Rosie?”

Hardison nodded. Eliot blew out a breath. He was tempted to make a joke and change the subject, but something about the darkness in and around the car and Hardison’s comforting presence made him want to be sincere.

“Yeah,” he answered, a little grudgingly. “I mean, I think so. I’ve been wantin’ to be a dad for a while now.”

“What’s stopped you?” Hardison asked, his voice casual, like he was leaving room for Eliot to wiggle out of the conversation if he didn’t want to answer.

“Hard to get a kid as an unmarried dude,” Eliot said, and Hardison chuckled. “An’ our jobs are pretty dangerous, mine especially. Plus I… no ‘fense, but you and Parker didn’t seem like the kind to want kids. Back when the three of us became partners I just kinda…” he shrugged, “resigned myself to never having kids if y’all didn’t want ‘em.”

Hardison was quiet for a long moment, and in the absence of enough light to see his face Eliot almost started worrying he’d said something wrong.

“Nah,” Hardison said. “I always kinda wanted kids. Never enough to make a plan ‘til now, but now I’m pumped,” he said, instantly putting Eliot’s mounting anxieties at ease. “Always pegged Parker as someone who never wanted kids.”

“She’s the one who brought up adopting Rosie,” Eliot said.

“Yeah,” Hardison agreed. “And if you’re raising Rosie, so are we. So I guess you an’ me were both wrong.”

Hardison thought for a few minutes, the feeds getting quieter and quieter until Laurel June settled herself in Rosie’s room and started to fall asleep.

“I never had much of a family,” Hardison said. “I mean, I had Nana and whatever other kids were stayin’ with us at the time. Then I had the crew, and that was probably more like a real family than when I lived with Nana. But now—” Eliot saw him shrug in the dim light, “—I think I wanna try at havin’ a real family. Somethin’ closer to the societal picture of a family, at least.”

“That why you’re proposin’ to Parker?” Eliot asked.

Hardison hesitated. “Partly, yeah,” he said finally, sounding uneasy. “Haven’t decided when or how I’m gonna ask, but I got the rings already.”

“Rings?” Eliot asked. “Plural?”

“Yeah, man,” Hardison said. “I wanted one too. I always thought it was weird straight men didn’t get engagement rings.”

Eliot let it go and tried to picture Parker as a married woman. He could only stand it for about a minute and then shoved the image out of his mind.

“You think Parker’s gonna come back?” Hardison asked after a while. He had turned in his seat to lean back against the passenger side door.

Eliot shrugged. “Probably. Usually she just hangs from some rafters for a while and feels better.”

“How do you know that?”

“She told me once,” Eliot said.

Hardison hummed. “What if she steals a car?”

“We’ll make her take it back.”

“What if she steals a _ tank?” _Hardison asked. “There’s a army base outside town.”

“It’s Air Force,” Eliot corrected. “No tanks.”

“Still,” Hardison said. “If she steals a plane or somethin’ I’m blamin’ you.”

Eliot clicked through the feeds again. No movement. God, he itched to do a real perimeter check, make sure Hunter was still where he couldn’t get at Laurel June and Rosalia.

“You’re really protective of her,” Hardison observed.

“Which ‘her’?”

“Laurel June.”

Eliot let out a breath forcefully. “Old habit.” He clicked through the feeds. “Her and Chase were the littlest an’ Waylon took advantage of it. Me an’ Meg, we used to take the fall for them whenever we could. Once we were gone for a week with our mom an’ we came back an’ Junie had a broken wrist. She wouldn’t tell us how it happened.”

“Damn,” Hardison breathed.

“So yeah,” Eliot said. “I keep my eye on her whenever I can.”

Hardison was quiet for a long moment. “She’s a grown woman now, El.”

Eliot scoffed. “Hardly.”

“You were gone for sixteen years, dude,” Hardison said, and Eliot winced. “She probably did a lot of growin’ without you fightin’ her battles for her.” He continued as Eliot started to argue, cutting him off. “There shouldn’t be battles at all, I know, but there are an’ she’s gotta fight ‘em herself as much as she can.” His tone softened. “You can’t fix everything, man.”

Eliot glared at him, but he doubted Hardison could see it through the dark.

Suddenly Hardison yelped as the door he was leaning on opened, and he nearly toppled out, flailing all of his limbs for purchase.

He wouldn’t have fallen out, even if Eliot hadn’t caught his wrist to steady him, because Parker stood in the door and caught Hardison against her legs. She looked down with a puzzled look on her face.

“Hey Park,” Eliot greeted casually, still holding Hardison’s arm.

“I get shotgun,” she said simply.

“You heard her,” Eliot said, letting go of Hardison.

Parker kneed at Hardison’s back until he could sit upright, and he moved to the backseat, grumbling all the way. Parker just slid into the passenger seat, the overhead light winking off as she closed the door.

“Everyone’s safe and asleep,” Eliot updated her, clicking through the feeds to show her.

“Let’s go back,” Parker said, and it didn’t quite sound like a suggestion, so Eliot started the car.

Hardison took the laptop back to monitor the feeds, and Eliot turned on the radio as he merged onto the empty turnpike. He sang along to a few songs, letting Parker talk if she wanted to.

“I like it when you sing,” Parker said quietly in between songs.

“Thanks.”

“Not that last one, though,” she said, and Eliot started to grumble.

* * *

“—fly down for Christmas this year,” Eliot overheard Hardison saying in the suite’s living room late the next morning. He went to the bedroom door and stood just out of sight, his curiosity getting the better of him.

There was a long pause, and then Hardison sounded like he was smiling.

“Even better. I wanna meet Tali and May,” he said. A pause, and then the smile was gone. “Oh, uh, would it be better to fly y’all up to me?”

A pause, and then he sounded surprised and a little impressed. “Oof. Yeah, better safe than sorry. What about you? Your hip doin’ better?”

Eliot sneaked a peek around the corner and saw Hardison pacing back and forth across the length of the living room, his phone held to his ear. He was listening intently and didn’t notice Eliot, so he stayed watching.

A smile spread over Hardison’s face again and he looked relieved. “Good. Good. It was a pain in the ass to break into the bank of Iceland the first time, I bet they beefed up security after that,” he laughed.

There was a short pause, and Hardison stopped pacing. “Miss you too. I’ll call again when we got more news. You keep me posted on Geraldo, alright?” His smile brightened. “Love you too, Nana. Bye.”

Hardison slowly put his phone in his pocket, and then looked right up at Eliot. “Nana says hi,” he said. 

“She’s a good lady,” Eliot said.

Hardison nodded. “She is.”

Eliot stepped fully into the living room. “Park’s squirrelled herself in the bathroom to plot. Wanna see if there’s a game on?”

Hardison shrugged. “We’ve got a bit.”

* * *

“If it doesn’t fly international, why’s it the Will Rogers _ World _Airport?” Parker asked, squinting up at the sign above a baggage carousel.

Eliot shrugged. “It just is.”

Parker let out a _ hmph _noise and walked away, wandering towards the set of automatic doors Nate and Sophie would come through when their plane landed. Eliot rejoined Hardison at a bench nearby. Hardison was watching something on his phone, one earbud in and his hand that wasn’t holding his phone rubbing absentmindedly at his chin.

“All clear?” Eliot asked.

Hardison glanced up and then scooted over to make room for Eliot. “Almost. It’s quiet, at least. Rosie’s nappin’ and Laurel June is still watchin’ tv.”

“Hunter?”

“Still at work,” Hardison answered, letting Eliot see the screen. Sure enough, Laurel June was curled up on the couch, her feet tucked under her, and watching something on tv. As they watched, though, Rosalia entered the room, her hair mussed and feet bare. She carried her koala in one hand and a book in the other, and wordlessly joined Laurel June on the couch.

Laurel June said something, and Hardison passed Eliot the other earbud.

_ “You sure you don’t want me to read it to you?” _Laurel June was asking.

Rosie shrugged and opened her book, a clear but unspoken “no.”

“Can she read?” Hardison asked, a little incredulously.

“Guess so,” Eliot replied. “Not too weird.”

“That’s a chapter book, El,” Hardison said, pinching his phone screen until he could get a better view of the book in Rosie’s hands. “Not a picture book.”

Eliot raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Damn.”

“You said she’s five?”

“Five,” Eliot confirmed. “Closer to six, but yeah.”

Hardison hummed, sounding impressed.

“I didn’t learn to read ‘til I was seven,” Hardison said.

“No shit?” Eliot asked. “Thought you’d’a been readin’ right from the second you were born.”

Hardison laughed. “Nah, but I learned to read real quick. Just didn’t have good teachers ‘til then. Movin’ from house to house, you know, it made catchin' up in school hard.”

Parker joined them and sat on the back of the bench, her feet in the seat. “Whatcha talking about?”

“How Hardison didn’t learn to read until he was seven,” Eliot said.

“Really?” Parker asked.

“Yes!” Hardison exclaimed. “Is it really that hard to believe?”

Parker shrugged. “I didn’t speak until I was seven.”

Eliot leaned back. “See, that don’t surprise me.”

Parker furrowed her brow. “What?”

Hardison shook his head. “No, me neither.”

“Why not?” Parker demanded.

Eliot shrugged. “You’re autistic.”

“So are you,” Parker said.

“Yeah,” Eliot replied. “But you’re not real verbal at the best of times.”

Parker let out another _ hmph _noise and Eliot fully expected her to leave, but she stayed, peering down at the phone in Hardison’s hands.

“What’s she reading?”

Hardison shrugged. “Can’t make it out.”

A garbled announcement came over the loudspeaker and Parker leapt off the bench. “They’re here!”

“You could understand that?” Eliot asked.

Parker grinned as she headed towards the sliding doors. Eliot rolled his eyes and followed her, followed after a few seconds by Hardison, half paying attention to his phone still.

A few minutes later they heard Nate and Sophie before they came into view.

“—honestly, you didn’t think I’d mind?” Sophie was saying, sounding clearly annoyed. Just off the plane and they were already bickering.

“I didn’t think you’d mind!” Nate confirmed, sounding defensive. “It’s not all that different—”

“Not that different?” Sophie asked incredulously, but whatever retort she was preparing got cut off as she saw Parker, Hardison, and Eliot waiting for them. She put on a smile and walked a little faster to join them off to one side of the arrivals gate. Nate kept up his pace, looking chagrined.

“Hi!” Sophie exclaimed, hugging Hardison and Eliot, and giving Parker a little arm squeeze.

“How was your flight?” Hardison asked, not putting his phone away, but taking Sophie’s bag with his free hand.

_ “Flights,” _Sophie corrected.

Nate rolled his eyes. “Don’t get her started,” he warned.

“Moneybags there didn’t want to spare the change to upgrade our seats to first class,” Sophie told Hardison irritably as they walked towards baggage claim, flicking her fingers over her shoulder at Nate. “There were four separate flights, we had an overnight layover in London, and the flight from Lugano was a bloody propeller plane.”

Nate sighed. “There _ was _no first class on two of the flights,” he explained like he’d been having this argument for the better part of twenty-four hours.

“Yeah, Soph,” Hardison said with a defensive grimace, “that was the best I could do on short notice.”

Sophie seemed to deflate and she rubbed at her forehead. “Never mind, I’m just exhausted. Just tell me the hotel room you’ve gotten is decent.”

Parker grinned and skipped up to put herself between Hardison and Sophie, effectively shunting Hardison back with Nate. Eliot, heading up the back of the group, saw him shake his head and then lag just a little as he looked back at the feeds on his phone.

“It’s a great room,” Parker said. “There’s a Jacuzzi tub and a mini Glen Reeder safe in the closet. Couldn’t have done much better, really, not with the hotel’s finances—”

“There’s a pretty good bar on the second floor,” Eliot called up to Sophie, and Nate seemed to perk up at that as well.

“Perfect,” Sophie said, a relieved smile finally on her lips.

Nate hung back until he could lock step with Eliot.

“Sorry to hear about your brother,” he said quietly.

“Thanks,” Eliot said awkwardly. “I’m not much thinkin’ about that, mostly just tryin’ to help Rosie an’ Laurel June.”

“Tell me about the kid,” Nate said.

“Hardison an’ me are putting together a whole briefing for tonight,” Eliot said. “But you’ll love her. She’s a great kid.”

Nate smiled. “You know, when I pictured the three of you having kids I always imagined Parker stealing a baby from the supermarket on a whim.”

Eliot laughed. “Don’t give her ideas.”

“What’s that you’re doing?” Sophie asked, looking over her shoulder to see Hardison looking intently at his phone and narrowly avoiding several collisions with strangers.

“I put cameras and mics in Laurel June’s house,” Parker explained.

“I’m monitoring the feeds,” Hardison added. “Hunter will be home soon.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings in this chapter for: alcohol and alcoholism, pregnancy, mention of abortion, trauma reactions, mention of domestic violence, bullying, homophobia, ableism

_ Press my nose up to the glass around your heart  
_ _ I should’ve known I was weaker from the start  
_ _ You build your walls and I will play my bloody part_  
_To tear, tear them down_

“Babel”—Mumford & Sons

“What’s the plan?”

Nate was on his third drink and was solidly tipsy.

“Parker’s still working it out. Seems she's havin' trouble with it,” Eliot said, keeping his eyes on the game on the television above the bar. He twisted his beer bottle side to side on the cocktail napkin it rested on. He was only on his first beer; drinking felt like a bad idea in the middle of such an important job. “We pushed back the briefing ‘til tomorrow.”

“No, no,” Nate said, putting his drink down halfway to his mouth. “I mean, if you get her. _ When _ you get her,” he corrected himself, “what are you gonna do?”

Eliot sighed. “I don’t know. Raise her myself. Parker an’ Hardison said they’ll help but I dunno how serious they are about it.”

“Where are you going to live? What school is she gonna go to? Would you three still run jobs?” Nate rattled off, gesturing to the bartender for another whiskey.

Eliot thought carefully before he spoke. “I don’t know,” he said earnestly. “Don’t much feel like planning it all yet. Since it’s not a done deal.”

Nate sighed and sat up a little straighter, looking like he was going to lean back into his backrest before he realized the barstool had no back and he was about to fall. He righted himself. “You gotta have a plan, El.”

Eliot let out an annoyed huff. “It ain’t time yet, Nate. I don’t wanna buy a house an’ paint a bedroom with a fairy princess castle only to find out my shitty father gets custody,” he snapped.

Nate blinked and looked unbothered by Eliot’s annoyance. “We’ll just have to win, then.”

Eliot deflated, seeing that there was no point in arguing with Nate about this.

“Listen,” Nate said, shuffling in his seat once more and leaning over the bar to make his point. “If you really want this to happen, you gotta plan ahead. Having kids, it-it’s tough. It’s worth it, of course, but you gotta be ready. As much as you can.” He gestured widely. “Look for houses, but don’t buy one. Research schools, but don’t enroll her in any. Talk to Parker and Hardison about the crew.”

Eliot fiddled with his beer in front of him. “Nothin’ that can’t be undone.”

“Exactly.”

Eliot sighed, pulled his wallet out of his pocket, and slid a bill across the bar to the bartender.

“Thanks, Nate. I’m gonna go up,” Eliot said.

“I’ll be up in a few if Sophie asks,” Nate said, but he reminded the bartender about his drink as Eliot walked away. 

* * *

Eliot absentmindedly rubbed the cuff of his sleeve between his fingers. He stared at the diagram on the bathroom mirror through the doorway from where he sat on the bed. He couldn’t parse any of it.

“Are you going to call or what?” Hardison asked.

“Keep your shirt on,” Eliot mumbled, but roused himself and grabbed his phone. Hardison passed him a slip of paper with a phone number on it and he dialed and put the phone to his ear.

_ “Hello?” _Laurel June answered after the third ring.

“Junie, hey, s’me,” Eliot said, hoping with everything he had that Junie recognized his voice.

_ “Danny,” _ Laurel June said, sounding a little surprised. _ “What’s wrong?” _

“Nothing, nothing,” Eliot reassured. “I was just wonderin’, you an’ Rosie busy today?”

_ “No,” _ Laurel June said. _ “I’m still off work an’ Rosie won’t go back to school ‘til Monday. Are you leaving today?” _

The question sounded detached and pleasant, like Laurel June didn’t care if he left.

“No,” he said, a little firmer than necessary. “Wanted to see if y’all wanted to go out with me an’ Erin. Like a museum or somethin’.”

“Oh!” Laurel June said, sounding appropriately chastened. “That sounds fun. Uh, lemme check with Rosie. What museum were you thinkin’?”

Eliot tried to remember off the top of his head some of the museums nearby. “Uhh, the Omniplex—”

_ “It’s not the Omniplex anymore,” _Laurel June interrupted, and Eliot paused. 

“What?” he demanded. “Why?”

_ “Dunno. It’s SMO now. Science Museum Oklahoma,” _Laurel June said.

“That’s stupid,” Eliot mumbled. “Fine, there’s _SMO, _the Art Museum… Rosalia might be too young for the Osteology museum so, I dunno, the zoo is an option too, I guess. It’s pretty nice out today.”

_ “I think I know which Rosie would pick,” _ Laurel June said, and called out to their niece. Her voice sounded muffled as she relayed the plan and the choices to Rosalia, and very quickly she spoke back into the phone. _ “I was right. she says zoo.” _

Eliot grinned. “We’ll pick you up in 45.”

A little over an hour later they were walking into the zoo, Rosie running ahead and the adults following. Hardison had elected to stay at the hotel and provide support for Sophie’s mission, and he was singing quietly to himself over the comms about making coffee. 

“Thanks for doin’ this, Danny,” Laurel June said, elbowing him lightly in the ribs.

“’Course.”

Rosie turned and, seeing that they were several yards back, sprinted back to them and then bounce-walked with them. Parker grinned at her and offered her hand, and they skipped up to the zoo map together.

“We want to go see the snakes,” Parker said, Rosie on her hip and pointing at the map when Eliot and Laurel June caught up.

Eliot grimaced. “Really?”

Laurel June stifled a laugh. “You still scared of ‘em?”

“He was afraid of snakes?” Parker asked gleefully, an evil glint in her eye.

“Completely. An’ spiders,” Laurel June added.

Rosie wiggled until Parker put her down, and Laurel June linked her arm with Parker’s and led her away.

“One time Seth found a little garter snake in the backyard,” Laurel June said conspiratorially just before they left earshot.

“Aw, don’t tell that story, Junie, come on,” Eliot called after them.

He looked down and saw Rosie looking up at him curiously.

“Are you really ‘fraid’a snakes?” she asked.

Eliot sighed inwardly. “Yeah,” he said. “Are you?”

“No,” she replied coolly, and took his hand. “I thought boys weren’t scared of nothin’.”

Eliot remembered the other night, helpless as his sister was bullied by her husband, remembered how he felt every time a job went sour with Parker or Hardison still inside.

“No,” he said. “No, boys get scared, same as girls.”

* * *

“Mike an’ Lois are thinkin’ of retiring,” Laurel June said.

“Thought they already were,” Eliot mused. Rosalia wriggled on his shoulders and he helped her to the ground carefully. She hummed contentedly and clutched at the hem of his shirt with one hand, her eyes scanning the scene around her for anything interesting.

_ “Hunter’s back, Sophie’s a go,” _ Hardison said in his ear, and Parker hung back for a moment so she could talk without Laurel June hearing.

_ “Mute your side, we’re busy,” _ she hissed. Hardison apologized and their earbuds lost some background noise. Sophie was paying a visit to Hunter as a social worker while they were out, setting the stage for the court battle and gathering intel inside the house that their bugs wouldn’t pick up.

Eliot tried to put Hunter out of his mind as they rounded a corner near the bears and big cats. “So, what’s…” he gestured vaguely, “what’s Seth’s deal?”

Laurel June grimaced. “I don’t… Look, I know what his “deal” is, but I’m not about to go spewin’ what I know to the world. You’ll have to ask him. All’s you need to know from me is he doesn’t come home often.”

Rosie let go of Eliot and wandered back to Parker, stopped her, and beckoned to her until Parker stooped and Rosie could whisper in her ear.

“Lions?” Parker confirmed, and Rosie nodded once. Parker stood. “Lions,” she announced to Eliot and Laurel June.

“You go on ahead,” Laurel June said, stopping and pressing her hands to the small of her back with a little stretch. “I gotta sit for a second.”

“Yeah, go on,” Eliot said, shooing Parker. “We’ll wait at that bench over there.”

Laurel June sighed when she sat, but Eliot couldn’t tell if it was a sigh of relief or fatigue or what.

“You good?” Eliot asked cautiously.

Laurel June bit her lip. “I gotta tell you somethin’, Danny,” she said, and Eliot’s heart started pounding.

“What, you kill someone?” he asked in an effort to diffuse some tension.

It worked. Laurel June chuckled. “You know me, just killin’ people right an’ left.” Her face fell and she cleared her throat. “No, uh, I’m… I’m pregnant.”

Eliot feigned surprise even as he tried to gauge her feelings about the subject. She didn’t look particularly excited. In fact, he saw little except anxiety on her face. “That’s great, Junie,” he said. “You’ll be a great mom.” He didn’t need to lie about that part; Junie _would_ be great. She’d wanted to be a teacher like Meg for a while, if photography didn’t pan out. Eliot privately wondered what had happened to _ that _ dream.

“I—I don’t know, Danny,” she said, her voice pitching up. “I don’t… I don’t know what to do. I’m not ready.”

Eliot blew out a breath quietly. “Well, how far along are you?”

“Fifteen weeks,” Laurel June whispered.

“That’s a little less than four months,” Eliot said. “So you got, what, about five months to get ready?”

Laurel June nodded, her eyes wide.

“You’ll figure it out,” Eliot said. “You’ll be ready. Of course, if you don’t _ wanna _be pregnant—”

Laurel June shot a glare at him. “I’m not doing that,” she snapped. “You know I don’t believe in abortion.”

Eliot put his hands up in surrender. “Fine, no one’s makin’ you get one. But you got other options, is all I’m sayin’.” 

Laurel June sighed and slumped back against the bench. “I know I should be happy, and I am, but… I’m so scared, Danny.”

Eliot put an arm around her. “I know,” he said. “It’s a big change.”

“It’s not the changes, it’s…” Laurel June trailed off, like she wasn’t sure what the end of the sentence was.

Eliot thought about the prospect of a baby born into that household, and he was again reminded just how badly they needed to get rid of Hunter.

“I know, Junie.” He squeezed her and she flinched, sitting bolt upright and shrugging his arm off of her shoulders.

“What’s—”

“Nothing,” Laurel June said quickly, her cheeks flushing, and she tugged at her sleeve. “It’s nothing, I’m sorry.”

“Are you—”

“It’s fine, Danny,” Laurel June said, finally looking at him, and he saw a look in her eyes he saw when Parker was reminded of her childhood. She rubbed absentmindedly at her shoulder, about where Eliot had squeezed. “Please, just, drop it. I’m fine.”

“Dropping,” he said, again raising his hands in surrender. He looked around awkwardly for a conversation topic, and his gaze landed on a tourist taking pictures of the elephant enclosure nearby. “What have you been doin’ since I left?” he asked, figuring that was as safe a topic as any.

Laurel June looked relieved at the change of subject. “Well, graduated high school,” she said. “Got a job at the bank downtown, but after me an’ Hunter got married I dropped down to part time. After the baby comes, I’m gonna quit altogether.”

Eliot hummed, inwardly annoyed that Hunter had presumably wanted a housewife. “You still do any photography?” he asked instead of sniping his brother-in-law, nodding at the tourist with the camera.

“Not much,” Laurel June said lightly. “Mostly event photos, family weddings and stuff, but every so often I’ll go out back of Mom an’ Dad’s an’ do some nature shots.”

“You ever thought of sellin’ pictures?” Eliot asked, a plot hatching in his mind.

Laurel June laughed derisively. “Yeah, like anyone’d want that.”

“You never know,” he said as Parker and Rosie came around the corner. He waved them over. “Hey punkin, how were lions?”

Rosie was pouting. “They were gone.”

Eliot looked to Parker for an explanation.

“Probably back with the keepers,” she said.

“I wanted to see the lions,” Rosie whined.

Eliot held his hands out and Rosie climbed up in his lap. “I know. But maybe it was good they weren’t out.”

“How come?”

“So they didn’t _ eat ya,” _he snarled, and started tickling her. She shrieked with laughter and Laurel June joined in.

* * *

“Run it,” Nate said, gesturing to the tv in the hotel suite where Hardison had hooked up his laptop.

“Hey!” Parker snapped. “Are you running this crew?”

Nate rolled his eyes and gestured for her to take over.

“Thank you. Hardison, run it,” she said.

“Alright,” Hardison said neutrally. He hit a button on his computer and a photo of Rosalia appeared on the tv screen. It had a generic blue cloudy background and she was smiling, but her eyes turned sharply to her left, like she had been looking at something else in the room when she got her kindergarten school picture taken.

“Aww,” Sophie said.

“Rosalia Nicole Baker. Rosie,” Hardison began. “Date of birth November 12, 2008. Age five. Her mother Danae abandoned her and her father shortly after giving birth. Her father, Chase Gillespie, recently passed away, leaving Rosie at the mercy of the state. She’s the client, even though she doesn’t know it.”

Hardison clicked another button and Rosie’s picture vanished, replaced by a photo of Marcie and Waylon.

“Waylon and Marcie Gillespie. One set of marks. They’re looking to get custody of Rosalia, an’ that’s not happening. Waylon’s a retired carpenter and owns a hardware store. Marcie’s a hairdresser. Waylon had five kids, two with Marcie.”

“Which one are you?” Nate asked Eliot. “Oldest?”

Eliot winced. “Didn’t used to be. I had an older sister who died a few years back.”

“Waylon’s got no criminal record,” Hardison said, at the same time as Nate mumbled an apology.

“He should,” Eliot interrupted. “Cops came to the house twice that I can remember. No arrests or anything, but they were domestic calls so they shoulda got put on his record.”

“You wanna run this?” Hardison asked pointedly, but Eliot took the bait and stood.

Eliot took the clicker out of Hardison’s hand. “Waylon’s a bully, and an alcoholic one,” he said. “Had it out for Seth especially, but wasn’t too fond of any of us. Think probably Chase was his favorite.”

Sophie looked sad and Eliot blocked her out.

“Marcie ain’t abusive really,” he continued. “Just mean, an’ she enables Waylon.”

“What’s our ‘in’ with those two?” Sophie asked. “Money?”

Eliot scanned the numbers on Hardison’s laptop in front of him. “Financials aren’t great, but probably no foul play there. No, our leverage with them is proof kids shouldn’t be around them. They’re gonna try to discredit me an’ say I’m not fit, so we gotta at least present me as the least bad choice compared to them.”

He clicked through to the next slide. A photo of Hunter in his work clothes, smirking at the camera. Eliot read through Hardison’s notes quickly. “Hunter Classen. Drywall guy for a construction company. Up for a promotion to site manager. He’s tryin’ for Rosie, too.”

“What’s his deal?” Nate asked.

“He’s basically 34-year-old Waylon. Violent guy. Beat up Seth every day at school,” Eliot spat. “Star baseball player in high school. Two prior DV reports, no convictions.”

“And our ‘in’?” Nate asked.

“His temper,” Eliot said. “He’s easily riled up an’ then he slips up. I got him suspended once in high school. Pissed him off at lunch an’ he launched himself at me. Tried to kill me. There were teachers around, though, an’ he was yellin’ about how he was gonna kill me an’ my ‘queer brother’. He got two weeks out of school for that.”

Nate hummed thoughtfully.

Eliot clicked to the next slide. Laurel June’s picture, on her wedding day, filled the screen.

“Alright. Laurel June Classen. My sister, an’ she’s Hunter’s wife. Twenty-five an’ pregnant with her first,” he said shortly.

“She’s a mark?” Nate asked doubtfully.

“No, don’t think so,” Eliot said. “I mean, we can’t exactly let her know what we’re doin’, but she’s bein’ hurt by Hunter, so she’s a client, too.”

“Go back to Rosalia,” Sophie said, and when Eliot clicked back she studied her. “Tell us a bit about her.”

Eliot blew out a breath and found himself smiling wide. “Great kid. Way smart.”

Sophie leaned forward. “Go on.”

“She reads at a third-grade level, by my estimation,” Hardison said. “Chapter books, all by herself. She likes biology.”

“And she’s autistic,” Parker added.

Sophie looked surprised. “She is?”

“They don’t know it yet,” Parker said, gesturing vaguely to Hardison’s laptop. “But she is.”

Nate hummed. “So, ideas?”

“I had a few con ideas,” Parker said. “But I couldn’t think of any that fit very well. I had the Inverted Impostor Doll—”

“No, I’ve never seen that one pay off,” Sophie said.

“—Double Daylight—”

“That could work,” Sophie mused.

“—Blue Birthright—”

“What’s that?” Hardison asked.

“Lost Heir but with birthmarks,” Sophie said.

“She’d need an established birthmark,” Nate said dismissively.

“—and Pushing Up Daisies,” Parker finished.

“Too dark,” Sophie said.

She sighed, her brow furrowed in thought.

“Are we wanting money out of this, too?” Nate asked.

“Nah, no one’s got it,” Eliot said. “Just Rosie an’ karma bein’ a bitch to Waylon an’ Hunter.”

Sophie hummed. She studied Rosalia again, then sat up straight.

“Twice Exceptional,” she said suddenly.

Nate leaned forward, his interest piqued. “I forgot about that one.”

“What’s Twice Exceptional?” Eliot asked, feeling completely out of the loop.

“It’s a Prodigy variant,” Nate explained. “With the Prodigy, you convince the mark he’s got this huge natural talent at something he just picked up—guitar, painting, inventing, whatever—to get him out of the way. It doesn’t yield money usually, but it occupies them while you do what you need to do. I saw it once with the president of a small European—”

“Twice Exceptional,” Sophie interrupted, “is when you add some kind of handicap—”

Parker hummed in protest.

“—sorry, disability,” Sophie corrected herself. “Or some other unfortunate disadvantage, to convince the mark to go further away to accommodate it.”

“Blind guy gets convinced he’s a great pianist but the music schools nearby can’t teach him without sheet music,” Hardison guessed.

“Exactly,” Sophie said.

“Rosie’s not the mark,” Eliot reminded them.

“Doesn’t matter,” Nate said with a shrug. “Works almost the same with a client in the hot seat. She’s twice exceptional, for real.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Parker asked suspiciously.

“It’s a phrase they use in gifted education,” Hardison supplied. “For smart kids with disabilities. Giftedness being one ‘exceptionality’, disability being the other.”

“So,” Nate said, and stood. “First things first. Rosalia will need—”

Parker cleared her throat pointedly again. Nate stopped and stared at her in confusion.

“I’m calling the shots,” she said, standing and then pointing at Nate’s seat.

Eliot also cleared his throat.

Parker sighed minutely. _ “Eliot _is calling the shots,” she corrected.

“Thank you,” Eliot said, and took Parker’s place in front of the assembled team as she and Nate sat back down.

“You’re gonna have to run me through the con in detail,” he told Sophie. “But for now, what we’ll need is a diagnosis for Rosie. Through the school seems the best option, unless we can find a clinic that can do it cheap nearby. Soph, you set that up, an’ you’re also in charge of buildin’ the case against Hunter as the social worker. Nate, you’re on legal prep for the custody hearings. You got a lawyer ready?”

Nate put on a nasal voice. “How’s Jimmy Papadokalis?” he asked with a smarmy grin.

“Whatever makes you happy. Hardison, surveillance an’ research,” he instructed. “Build a case for taking Rosie back to Portland, and Nate’ll need help with legal prep.”

“Aye aye.”

“Parker, you an’ me are the public face. We’re building a case for us as guardians,” Eliot said.

“What about stealing?”

“Not much to steal.”

“We’re stealing your niece,” she pointed out.

“Fine, we are also on stealing Rosalia,” Eliot conceded. “An’ you may need to go back to Waylon an’ Marcie’s, or fix cameras at Laurel June’s.”

“What are we doing for Laurel June?” Sophie asked.

Eliot blew out a breath. He had no idea. “Getting’ her away from Hunter, I guess.”

“Rosie’s the main target,” Hardison said.

“Okay,” Nate said with an air of finality. “Let’s go steal Eliot’s niece.” 

* * *

Hardison sighed and shoved his phone in his pocket. 

"What's your problem?" Eliot asked from the armchair. 

Hardison fell back against the couch cushions. "Nana's having Geraldo problems," he said vaguely. 

"And Geraldo is...?" Eliot asked. 

"One of the kids with her right now," Hardison answered. "He's got a lot of behavioral stuff. Nana's tryin' to fight an Oppositional Defiant diagnosis. He don't need that followin' him around." 

Eliot winced. "Oof." 

Hardison rubbed his hands over his face. "Problem is, he can't stay with her an' Tali an' May unless he cleans up his act, but moving him again would get rid of all the progress they've made." 

"Sucks, dude," Eliot said helplessly. 

"Yeah." Hardison looked up at Eliot finally. "So, hope you don't mind, I volunteered us to fly down to Chicago for Thanksgiving _and _cook most of the sides. She took dibs on the turkey, though." 

Eliot grimaced. "They can't come to us?" 

Hardison shook his head. "Nana doesn't wanna make stuff harder with traveling," he said. "An' she worries about May flying since she had all those ear problems." 

Eliot envied Hardison for this, knowing all about his little family, even without having met some of the members. Eliot hoped one day he knew this much about his own siblings. 

"How can we help Nana?" Parker asked, poking her head into the room from... above the door? How had she gotten up there? 

Hardison jumped. "Jesus--God, Park, some warning." 

"How can we help Nana?" Parker repeated with a frown. 

Hardison sighed. "I dunno. There's no good fix here." 

"There rarely is," Eliot said. 

Parker dropped down to the floor, landing flawlessly, and slid onto the couch next to Hardison. "When I was a foster kid with an Oppositional Defiant Disorder diagnosis, things got way worse for me." 

"That helps, thanks." 

_"So," _Parker continued pointedly. "Figure out a way that the diagnostic criteria don't fit him anymore." 

"Or get rid of the whole diagnosis for everyone," Hardison said. "It's not real anyway." 

"One thing at a time," Eliot reminded them. 

"Right, right," Hardison said. "I dunno, can we just like... fix the Illinois foster system?" 

"That's not taking things one at a time," Eliot said. 

Parker shrugged. "I'm in." 

Eliot groaned. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS RATHER GRAPHIC DOMESTIC VIOLENCE AND CHILD ABUSE. if you don't want to read the graphic part, it is separated at the top and bottom by 3 asterisks "***" and through context it should be clear what happened. should you choose to read the graphic part, read at your own risk and check the warnings below for specifics. 
> 
> warnings in this chapter for: *** ableist and sexist insults, deliberate re-injuring of an old injury, a child getting hit, a spouse getting thrown around, *** trauma reactions, death threats, descriptions of facial injuries, cops being the good guys more or less, homophobic insults, references to drug use and overdose

_ I saw you flinch when the doctors got their claws in you  
_ _ I saw your smile start to crack  
_ _ It’s not so funny when you’re sunk and there ain’t nothin’ you can do  
_And your options are all dead ends

“Safe and Sound”—Electric President

The afternoon was spent in preparation for the coming job. Eliot and Parker stood in the bathroom, working through holes in the plan. Eliot hadn’t worked this collaboratively on a job with Parker before; usually she got all the intel from Hardison, disappeared for six hours, and emerged with a finished, spotless plan with multiple contingencies worked out. She was perfectly willing to make room in her planning stage for Eliot, though. There were factors she wasn’t prepared to deal with on her own, mostly having to do with the personalities of Eliot’s family members and the layout of the town and surrounding area.

Hardison had squirrelled himself in the corner of the living room to keep monitoring the feeds at Laurel June’s house. Nate had a hockey game on and leafed through law books he’d sweet talked from a university library in town. Sophie alternated between watching the hockey game and leafing through a magazine, having already made all the calls she would need to make for the day.

Hardison was too engrossed in the feeds and his research to go out to eat, so they ordered takeout and kept on with their own tasks.

Around the time Eliot and Parker got to the fourth contingency plan, they heard a commotion in the living room. Parker flitted out to see what was going on, leaving Eliot to keep thinking, but a moment later she appeared back in the bathroom, eyes panicked.

“Come on,” she said.

She said nothing more, and Eliot followed her to the front room, his heart in his stomach.

Hardison had moved to the middle of the couch and his laptop sat on the coffee table, his headphones unplugged. Eliot heard arguing over the laptop’s speakers. Nate and Sophie were on either side of Hardison, leaning in stiffly to see what was going down.

Hardison glanced over his shoulder, and the look on his face made Eliot absolutely terrified. “There’s something—” he said dumbly, gesturing to the computer. Parker stood behind Hardison, and Eliot leaned forward to see over Hardison’s shoulder, his hands braced tightly on the back of the sofa beneath him.

The living room of Laurel June’s house was dim on the laptop screen, but there was enough light to clearly see what was going on.

***

Rosalia was shrinking back as far as she could into the couch, looking terrified as Hunter towered over her. Laurel June hung back, nervously glancing between her niece and husband.

_ “What’re you cryin’ about, idiot?” _ Hunter demanded. _ “I’m not the bad guy here. Say it. Say ‘you’re the good guy, Uncle Hunter.’” _

_ “Baby, come on,” _ Laurel June implored, her voice shaking. _ “She doesn’t talk when she’s scared.” _

_ “Scared,” _ Hunter repeated. _ “Of what? Bein’ taken away from her favorite aunt?” _

Laurel June swallowed, backed into a metaphorical corner. A second later, Hunter stepped towards her and she backed up until she was literally cornered.

_ “Make ‘em call it off,” _he hissed.

“Laurel June told him Waylon an’ Marcie are filin’,” Hardison explained, not taking his eyes off the screen. “He just went off.”

_ “Baby, please,” _Laurel June pleaded.

Hunter grabbed her wrist and pulled it up so she could watch him squeeze it, hard. She cried out in pain, and Eliot remembered the blue cast Laurel June had worn on that wrist one summer when they were kids.

Parker hummed in confusion. “Why is he so upset?” she asked, more to herself than to her colleagues. “He doesn’t seem attached to her or anything…”

“Maybe…”

Eliot reluctantly tore his attention from the screen to see Sophie squinting at the small whiteboard propped up next to the television with notes crammed onto every inch. Her brow furrowed and she shook her head slightly. Then her eyes widened.

“The promotion,” she said.

“Nuh-uh,” Eliot said. “No way he’s that smart.”

“What?” Hardison asked.

Sophie’s brow furrowed again. “It’s a Good Samaritan play. He’s going to use Rosalia’s guardianship—maybe adoption—to get the promotion.”

_ “No!” _

Rosalia’s cry coming from the laptop speakers pierced through Eliot’s inattention, but before he could shift his gaze back to the screen, he heard a sharp crack of skin hitting skin and the hotel room instantly became silent as everyone turned their attention to the feeds.

Rosalia shrieked, a sound Eliot knew would haunt him forever, and fell backwards, stumbling against the couch. When she landed on her butt on the floor, she shrank back, one hand pressed to her cheek, and stared up at Hunter, lip quivering and eyes full of fear.

Eliot had stopped breathing. Beside him, Parker was stiff as a board, and swayed precariously before her hands darted out and held on tight to the sofa.

_ “Hunter, no! She’s just a kid!” _Laurel June cried, seeming to get a new burst of courage even though Hunter still had her wrist in a vise grip. He hadn’t moved from his spot backing Laurel June into a corner.

_ “Shut the fuck up!” _Hunter yelled, yanking her arm and throwing her to the floor. She landed roughly and cried out.

_ “Fucking idiots,” _ Hunter growled. He leaned down into Rosie’s face. _ “Dipshit.” _ He turned and got into Laurel June’s face. _ “Useless piece of shit, should never’ve married you.” _He straightened up, then doubled back and spat at Laurel June. She flinched and he stormed off. A moment later a door farther back in the house slammed and it was quiet except Laurel June’s heavy breathing and Rosalia’s crying.

_ *** _

_ “ _ _ Rosie,” _ Laurel June murmured after a long few seconds, righting herself and wincing as she put pressure on her wrist. She held her hurt wrist to her chest and reached towards Rosie with the other, beckoning her over. _ “Come here, sweetheart, it’s alright.” _

Rosalia stood shakily, hand still held tight to her cheek, but instead of going to Laurel June she bolted down the hallway and another door slammed.

Laurel June slowly crumpled, drawing her knees up to her chest, and shook silently. A sob escaped her and it thawed the team assembled in the hotel room.

“Okay,” Nate said quietly. “We’re moving forward sooner than expected.”

Sophie glanced around and her eyes stopped on Parker.

“Parker,” she murmured, and Eliot looked at the thief as well. She was pale and breathing heavy, and Eliot knew her wide eyes weren't seeing the sitting room of their hotel at that moment, but something far more personal and traumatic. 

Parker didn’t look at Sophie or answer her, just slowly made her way to a chair, gripping the back of the couch for support.

Seeing Parker and hearing Laurel June stifling her sobs, remembering the sound of Hunter’s open palm against Rosalia’s cheek, Eliot’s blood began to boil.

Hardison got up and went to Parker, stooping down next to her chair.

“I’m gonna kill him,” Eliot hissed to no one in particular. “I’m gonna fucking kill him.”

He stormed around the couch and snatched the keys to the rental car from the sideboard.

“Whoa,” Nate blurted, lunging to grab Eliot’s arm. “Easy. You can’t—”

“Nate, I swear to God,” Eliot growled, stopping in his tracks. “I _ will _go through you if I have to. Let go of me.”

“No, Eliot, listen,” Nate said. He took his hand back and moved to stand between Eliot and the door. “You go down there now, we’re blown. To them, there’s no reason you’d know about any of what just happened.”

“So I’ll be discreet,” Eliot said. “No way to trace it back to me.”

“Call the police as a neighbor or something. Some way it won’t kill the con before it even starts,” Nate pleaded. “You’re too close to this.”

Eliot threw the keys at Nate and they bounced off his chest. “No, Nate, you’re _ not close enough,” _ he spat. “That’s my _ sister _ in there. My _ niece. _ Alright? We take care of what’s ours. So don’t fuckin’ tell me what to do to keep them safe.”

He turned on his heel and stormed back to the bedroom. As he passed Hardison and Parker, however, his phone started to ring in his pocket.

He stopped. Hardison’s eyes darted to the laptop and back to Eliot.

Sophie moved closer, crouching next to Parker, who was curled up stiffly in the chair, eyes wide and unseeing over the tops of her knees. “I’ve got her, you go,” she told Hardison softly.

“Bedroom,” Hardison said quickly, ushering Eliot out of the sitting room.

Eliot held his phone in his suddenly shaking hands. Hardison glanced at the number as he herded Eliot to the chair by the window. “It’s your sister’s house.”

Eliot took a shaky breath, preparing himself, and accepted the call.

“Hello?” he said, trying not to sound as shaken as he was.

There was a long silence, and then, very small, _ “Uncle Danny?” _

Eliot let out a breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. He had almost been hoping for Hunter. At least he wouldn’t have to hide his anger. Hardison put a steady hand on his knee.

“Rosie, what’s wrong, punkin?” he asked when he got a grip on himself.

_ “Not safe,” _she whispered, parroting his words from the funeral back at him, and she hiccupped.

“Okay, where are you, honey?” Eliot asked. He bit back panic and tried to slip into the retrieval specialist persona. This was a hostage situation. Business as usual.

_ “My room.” _

“Good, okay, now I want you to make sure the door is closed, and see if you can lock it,” Eliot instructed.

He knew there were locks on her bedroom door—Parker had installed the doorknobs herself. He just hoped Rosie would figure out how to lock the door herself.

He heard a soft _ click _ over the line and breathed a sigh of relief.

“Alright hon, you’re doin’ good. Now I’m gonna ask you a couple questions, ‘kay? Did anyone hurt you?” he asked.

_ “Uncle Hunter,” _she whispered.

“I’m sorry, punkin,” Eliot said. “That’s not okay. Is Aunt Junie safe?" 

_ "She hurt her hand," _ Rosie whispered. _"An' Uncle Hunter spitted on her." _

"Oh, that's not good. I'm sorry you saw it, I bet it was scary. Rosie, can you help me think of a password so you know it’s alright to open the door?”

There was a long pause. _ “Koala,” _ she whispered. 

“That’s perfect. Alright, I want you to remember the password and don’t open the door to anyone unless they say the password, okay?”

_ “Okay.” _

“Alright honey, you hang tight. Now, I’m gonna call the police, and I’m on my way too. You stay in your room an’ don’t open the door for anyone unless they say the password. You ‘member what it is?”

_ “Koala,” _she whispered.

“Perfect,” Eliot said. Hardison squeezed his knee. “Okay, I’m going to hang up now, but I’ll see you soon.”

_ “Okay,” _Rosie whimpered.

Eliot said a swift goodbye and hung up. He dropped his phone to the floor and ground the heels of his hands into his eyes. Hardison rubbed his back.

“You’re doin’ the right thing,” Hardison murmured.

“Am I?” Eliot asked. “’Cuz the cops sure as hell didn’t do anything for me when I was a kid.”

“We’ll make sure they do right by Rosie and Laurel June,” Hardison said. “If I have to change the charges in the system or pose as an OKC cop myself, I will.”

Eliot sighed and dropped his hands. “Alright. Thanks, hon.”

Hardison picked up his phone. “Want me to make the call?”

Eliot debated with himself, then shook his head and took the phone from Hardison. “No, I gotta do it.”

Hardison nodded. “I’m gonna give Nate the heads up to get Jimmy Papadokolis ready, an’ I’ll be back.”

Hardison squeezed Eliot’s shoulder as he stood. Eliot’s hands shook as he dialed and put the phone to his ear.

_ “911, police, fire, or medical?” _

* * *

There were two police cruisers in front of Laurel June’s house when Eliot pulled up. He half-wished Nate was with him, to talk to the cops, but Eliot had dropped him at a diner to finish preparing for later. Eliot was alone as he parked and walked to the door.

A middle-aged white cop opened the door when he knocked and squinted at him.

“Can I help you?” the cop asked. His uniform read 'Wilson'.

“I called it in, I’m Laurel June’s brother, Danny. Is she alright?” Eliot asked.

“Get that bastard outta here,” a voice snarled from behind Wilson. Eliot recognized the voice and a flash of anger shot through him.

“Quiet,” another voice barked.

Wilson eyed Eliot. “You armed?”

Eliot cursed internally. He’d forgotten cops asked that. “I got a pocketknife, but I don’t intend to use it,” he said. They didn’t need to know about his spare in his boot.

“Hand it over an’ you can come in,” Wilson said, holding out a hand. Eliot dropped the knife into his palm and he tucked it away as he stepped aside to let Eliot in.

As expected, Hunter glowered at Eliot from the couch, unrestrained but hovered over by a second cop, a younger Black man whose name plate read 'Phillips'. Across the way, in the small dining nook, Laurel June sat at the table. Wilson closed the door and went to sit across from Laurel June, who refused to look at Eliot.

“Junie—” Eliot said, but she cut him off.

“Rosie only wants you,” she spat, her hurt wrist loosely encircled with her other hand.

Eliot swallowed. He should have called ahead, after hanging up with the police, to tell her what was going on.

Instead of apologizing and making it worse, he stepped into the hallway and saw a third cop, a white woman named Buckner. She crouched next to a closed door and was talking through it.

“Is the password… ice cream?” she asked, a note of desperation in her voice, and when she saw Eliot she stood.

“You the one told her to lock herself in?” she asked suspiciously.

“For her safety,” Eliot said. “I did hostage retrieval in the Army.”

Buckner chewed on this, then nodded approvingly. “I trust you know the password.”

“I do,” he said. Buckner gestured for him to get on with it.

“Rosie, hon, it’s Uncle Danny,” he said. “You ready to open the door?”

“You have to say the password,” Rosie whimpered on the other side.

“You’re right, you’re right,” Eliot said. “The password is ‘koala’.”

There was a long pause and then a _ click, _and the door opened a crack. Eliot crouched to Rosalia’s level and smiled encouragingly when her eye appeared in the crack.

“Hi honey,” he said softly. “This is my friend Officer Buckner. She’s here to make sure you’re okay. Can you come out so we can see you?”

Rosalia’s lip quivered. She sniffled and opened the door farther, and Eliot stifled a gasp.

A red mark the size of a grapefruit covered her left cheek down to her jaw and up to her temple. Her left eye was puffy, and not from crying. Her bottom lip was swollen on one side.

“You’re doin’ great, punkin,” Eliot murmured when he had recovered. He offered his hands, palm up, and she stepped forward tentatively, her koala clutched in one arm, and grabbed at his fingers. “There we go,” he soothed.

Rosie stepped forward again until she could bury her face in Eliot’s neck, and he gently wrapped her in a hug. She was trembling like a leaf.

“You done so well, Rosie, I’m so proud of you,” Eliot murmured.

Buckner cleared her throat.

“Darlin’, can I pick you up?” Eliot asked. Rosie hesitated, then nodded.

Eliot stifled a sigh of relief when he stood, taking Rosie with him and propping her on his hip, and the strain on his knees lessened.

Buckner smiled softly at Rosalia. “How we doin’?”

Rosie just stared at her.

Buckner looked to Eliot for help. “She called me cryin’ an’ said Hunter’d hurt her. She wouldn’t say anythin’ else.”

Buckner nodded. “We didn’t get introduced. Buckner.”

“Danny. Laurel June’s brother.”

“Gillespie, right?” Buckner asked, and Eliot’s blood ran cold.

“Maybe.” If the cops put together that he was _ that _ Daniel Gillespie, the deserter, they would almost certainly report him and he’d get court martialed.

“I used to get breakfast at the same time as your daddy, at LouAnn’s downtown,” she said, her expression unreadable.

“Ah,” Eliot said vaguely.

“Shame about your mama,” she said kindly.

Eliot blinked and cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably. “Yeah,” he said shortly.

Buckner let it go. “Can I, uh, talk to you?” she asked, jabbing a thumb over her shoulder.

Eliot nudged Rosie. “I’m gonna put you down, alright? You go sit with Aunt Junie.”

Rosie’s hands tightened in his shirt for a second, then smoothed out and she nodded.

Eliot put her down and she took a step towards the living room, but stopped dead in her tracks and turned right back around when she heard Hunter’s voice. She sprinted behind Eliot and Buckner.

Eliot looked at the cop. “She’s not gonna go if Hunter’s still out there.”

Buckner considered her options, then nodded curtly and gestured to the living room. “I got her.”

Eliot stepped out of the hallway. “Rosalia won’t come out unless Hunter’s gone,” he told the cop standing over his brother-in-law.

“Right, let’s go,” Phillips said, muscling Hunter to his feet.

Hunter pulled back. “I’m not goin’ anywhere,” he snarled. “That little bitch ain’t kickin’ me outta my own home.”

“Let’s go,” Phillips repeated, grabbing him again.

“An’ _ you,” _ Hunter spat, ignoring the cop and turning to Eliot. “Who the _ fuck _ do you think you are, tellin’ my business?”

“I’m just keepin’ my family safe,” Eliot said, glaring steadily at Hunter. “Unlike _ you.” _

Hunter shoved Phillips off of him and lunged at Eliot, starting to pull his fist back. Eliot caught him, dodging the punch and twisting his arm behind his back as Phillips jumped to action. Eliot pulled tight, making Hunter cry out, and slammed him forward against the wall.

“You touch either of ‘em again an you’ll _ wish _ I only snapped your friggin’ arm,” Eliot hissed.

He felt a pair of hands grab his shoulders and drag him back. “That’s enough,” Phillips said.

Eliot stepped back but held tight to Hunter’s wrist until Wilson joined him next to the front door and went to cuff Hunter.

“What?” Hunter snarled. “Not me! That queer’s the one you should be arrestin’!”

“Clear self-defense, son,” Wilson said, leading him out of the house. “Best if you shut up right about now.”

Phillips followed them out, giving Eliot a tight-lipped smile as he left. When the door closed behind them it was quiet. Eliot took a breath before going back to Rosie, trying not to let Laurel June’s betrayed expression get to him as he passed her at the table.

In the hallway Eliot held out a hand to Rosie. “He’s gone, punkin. Everyone’s safe.”

Rosalia took his hand and let him lead her to Laurel June.

“You sit with Aunt Junie for a minute,” he said. “I’m gonna talk to Officer Buckner.”

“What—” Laurel June asked.

“I’ll tell you later,” Eliot interrupted.

She pressed her lips into a hard line, frustration in her eyes. It only lasted a second, because she remembered the little girl standing between them and put on a soothing expression. “C’mere, hon,” she said, patting her lap.

Buckner beckoned him into the master bedroom and closed the door behind them. Eliot saw a few prescription pill bottles on one night stand and a couple of books on the other.

“What’re you really doin’ here?” Buckner asked.

Eliot blinked in surprise. “What?”

“She called you and you called in the report, yeah, but how’d she have your number?”

“I gave it to her. Had a bad feeling about Hunter an’ she seemed scared of him,” Eliot said.

Buckner nodded her understanding, but her expression didn’t change. She gestured to the front of the house. “Rosalia—I was one of the officers responded to her father’s OD last week. Doubt she even remembers me, she was in a bad way.”

Eliot closed his eyes. Shit.

“Now, I know you haven’t been in town long, an’ I know you haven’t been back in years. You may’a forgot how commitment works around here.” She waited a long second as if to give him time to respond, her face hard. “She’s had some major upset these last coupla weeks. I hope you’re not plannin’ on getting’ her to rely on you an’ then hightail it outta here again. It ain’t fair to her.”

Eliot’s jaw clenched. The thought of abandoning Rosalia now…

“I’m filin’ for custody,” he said. “Was gonna wait an’ gather a case a little longer but. Well.” He gestured around vaguely.

Buckner just nodded, her expression unchanged. She leaned in closer and dropped her voice. “You make sure your case is ironclad, son. Don’t put her through the wringer any more than she already has been.”

“I don’t intend to,” Eliot assured her.

“Good,” she said firmly, and left the room, leaving Eliot to trail behind her. She made her way back to the dining table, where Rosie sat on Laurel June’s lap, dozing off.

“I need to put her to bed,” Laurel June said.

Buckner smiled apologetically. “I’m afraid that’s not an option right now.”

“What?” Laurel June asked, confusion clouding her features.

“Since there’s been an allegation of abuse against your husband, an’ she has visible injuries, we have to take Rosalia in to the hospital to get her checked out an’ the injuries documented,” Buckner explained. “It’s policy. I’d, uh, also like you to get checked out, too, with your wrist like it is.”

Laurel June held Rosalia tighter, subtly hiding her hurt wrist from view.

“Do we have to?” she asked pleadingly.

“Yes, I’m sorry,” Buckner said gently. “Why don’t you two take a minute an’ pack an overnight bag? You probably won’t be there all night, but just in case.”

Laurel June’s eyes flicked to Eliot and she set her jaw. “You can go home, Danny,” she said, quietly but firmly.

He shook his head. “I’m goin’ with you.” He hoped his tone got it through her skull that he was serious.

Laurel June stared at him, a conflict clearly playing out in her mind. Then she sighed. “Fine. We’ll need a ride back at any rate.”

“That’s just fine,” Buckner said, “But he rides separate.”

Eliot nodded. “I can help Rosie pack if you wanna get yourself sorted.”

Laurel June looked like she was about to fight him on that, but let it go. She roused Rosalia and shooed her, blinking sleepily, off her lap.

“C’mon, punkin,” Eliot said, holding a hand out. “Let’s pack you a bag for tonight.” 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings in this chapter for: doctors and hospitals, discussions of injuries including the abuse that caused them, discussions of domestic abuse, mentions of parental death and drug overdose, discussions of child endangerment and hypothetical prenatal injuries, discussion of the cycle of abuse

_ Sister dear, I’ll read your dream  
_ _ Read in it grief and sorrow  
_ _ The green it brings misfortune, here and your love is drowned in Yarrow _

“Yarrow”—Red Tail Ring

Eliot heard nothing for an hour and a half once they got to the hospital. Buckner walked Laurel June and Rosie back to the doctors who would look them over and then doubled back to the waiting room to take Eliot’s statement. When she was done, she left him in the waiting room, promising she’d be back in an hour or so, and Eliot sat quietly for a while before he turned on his earbud.

_ “—KidPsych down south,”  _ Hardison was saying.  _ “Or there’s some private practices do assessments scattered around the city.” _

“Hey,” Eliot said, speaking quietly so as not to draw the attention of the nurses from the otherwise empty waiting room. They weren’t in the emergency department, but somewhere upstairs, where it was quieter.

Several voices sounded off greetings over the comms.

_ “How are they?”  _ Nate asked. Eliot had left him at the door to the hospital, and he sat in the cafeteria waiting for his cue.

“Haven’t seen ‘em yet. Just got my statement taken by the cops.”

_ “You doing okay?”  _ Hardison asked.

“I’m fine,” Eliot evaded. He wasn’t, really, but that wasn’t what they were doing right now. Tonight had to be about Laurel June and Rosalia. “How’s Park doin’?”

_ “I’m fine,”  _ Parker said, and she really did sound like she was.  _ “Did you punch Hunter?” _

Eliot grinned. “Nearly. He tried to hit me, so I nearly broke his arm. Cops were right there, though, so I had to hold back.”

Hardison hummed.  _ “Shame.” _

“What’re y’all up to?”

_ “Looking for assessment centers in town,”  _ Parker said.

_ “She’ll need a formal diagnosis if we want to do Twice Exceptional, and giftedness testing too,”  _ Hardison added.  _ “…I’ve also been looking at schools in Portland,”  _ he said sheepishly.

Eliot sighed. “Babe—”

_ “I know, I know, it’s early yet. I’m just getting’ a feel for it,”  _ Hardison said.

Hardison recapped what he’d learned about the elementary schools in Portland he felt might be a good fit—a couple Montessori schools, a Reggio-Emilia, a couple of language immersion schools, and a handful of regular public schools that fully mainstreamed their disabled students.

_ “Eliot, do you have any proof of your father’s abuse?”  _ Nate asked suddenly, interrupting Hardison’s explanation of Reggio-Emilia schooling.

Eliot considered. “Maybe. Not on hand, but I got a hunch.”

_ “We’ll need it,”  _ Nate said.

_ “One issue at a time, Nate,”  _ Sophie said.  _ “Hunter and Laurel June tonight, and—” _

Eliot was about to object to Hunter and Laurel June being lumped together as if they were one single problem when a doctor came into the waiting room, looking around until he saw Eliot. Eliot hurriedly muted his earbud and stood, knowing the comms were still picking up what was being said around him.

“Are you Laurel’s brother?” the doctor asked as Eliot came over. He was young and carried himself confidently, but looked troubled. His coat read ‘Dr. Velmurugan, MD, Internal Medicine’.

“Laurel June, yeah,” Eliot corrected automatically. “Danny. How is she?” 

“Right, Laurel June,” the doctor said, shaking his head slightly. He hesitated and poked his head out of the waiting room, then waved to someone outside. A moment later, Buckner came into the room.

“I didn’t want to have to repeat myself when you returned,” Dr. Velmurugan explained.

“How is she?” Buckner asked.

“Not stellar,” the doctor said shortly. “I’m waiting on her x-rays to be read—we just left Radiology—but I suspect a minor wrist fracture. She has a bump on her head, here,” he said, pointing to the crown of his head, slightly closer to one ear than the other, “but no concussion. The baby is doing okay. But Laurel June is shaken.”

Dr. Velmurugan sighed. “She reports that her husband did this but will not speak against him any further, or explain any specifics of how she sustained her injuries.”

Eliot bit back his impulse to explain exactly what happened. The cops didn’t know the house was bugged. Instead he offered other information. “She broke her wrist when she was maybe eight,” he said. “Well, our father broke her wrist. I think it was the same wrist, an’ far as I know it still bothers her.”

Dr. Velmurugan nodded, taking in this news. A moment later he turned to Buckner.

“I will be able to say with certainty after reviewing the x-rays, but I believe these injuries to be consistent with the allegation of domestic violence,” he said with a degree of formality.

A second doctor entered the room and hung back to wait.

Buckner nodded at Dr. Velmurugan as she stepped towards the newcomer. “Come find me once you look at ‘em.”

“Thank you,” Eliot said as Dr. Velmurugan left.

The second doctor, a middle-aged woman with grey-streaked natural hair and dark skin, stepped forward. Her coat read ‘Dr. Crowe, MD, Pediatrics’. “You’re here for Rosalia Baker?” she asked Eliot and Buckner.

“I’m her uncle,” Eliot said.

“Follow me,” Dr. Crowe said with a small smile, and led Eliot and Buckner out of the waiting room.

“Is she alright?” Eliot asked for what felt like the hundredth time today.

“She’ll be fine,” Dr. Crowe said, and her use of the future tense worried Eliot. “I’d like to give you and your sister my full report at the same time.”

Eliot steeled himself for Laurel June’s attitude towards him.

Dr. Crowe knocked on an exam room door, waited until she got a response, and pushed the door open. Eliot had the presence of mind to mutter the room number before they went in, for Nate’s sake. Laurel June sat on the paper-covered exam table, struggling to put her shoes back on with just one hand, but she stopped when Eliot came in. Dr. Velmurugan had x-rays on a large computer screen and seemed to be about to explain them.

“Mind if we borrow Laurel June for a minute?” Dr. Crowe asked Dr. Velmurugan.

The doctor looked faintly put-out, but nodded and closed out of the x-rays. He excused himself and left. Dr. Crowe gestured to the chair next to the exam table and Eliot sat, feeling betrayal radiating off of his sister with every breath. Buckner stood just inside the door.

“I’ve just finished examining Rosalia,” Dr. Crowe began. “She wouldn’t speak much at all, let alone about what happened tonight, but I gather there was some major trauma recently, perhaps unrelated to tonight.”

“Her father died,” Laurel June supplied. “Our brother, last week. Drug overdose, an’ Rosie was home with him when it happened.”

Dr. Crowe absorbed this and nodded. “That would do it. I’m very sorry for your loss,” she said gently.

_ “My _ loss,” Laurel June muttered. Eliot let the jab go without responding, ignoring how much it hurt.

“Rosalia has a large mark on her face, fresh,” Dr. Crowe continued, tracing the shape of Rosie’s bruise around her own face. “Consistent with an adult’s hand striking her.”

“I’ll need photos for the report,” Buckner said.

“I took some, I’ll have them sent to you,” Dr. Crowe said. “The strike doesn’t seem to have injured her eye or caused a concussion. Both were possibilities, given the force applied and the location.”

Eliot closed his eyes, feeling rage, fear, and empathy whirl in the pit of his stomach. If he ever saw Hunter again…

“There’s another thing,” Dr. Crowe said, and Eliot’s eyes snapped open. “I saw signs of what might be autism, though I’m not in a position to make a diagnosis. She’s too tired and upset tonight. I recommend she get tested, and I can set up a referral whenever you’re ready.”

Here was their ‘in’. Now it wouldn’t seem out of left field to get Rosie evaluated for the con.

“I was already gonna suggest that,” Eliot said.

Laurel June stared at him.

“Erin, my fiancée,” Eliot said quickly, “she teaches special ed in Portland, saw signs the other night.”

Dr. Crowe nodded slowly. “Again, she will need a formal evaluation, accurate though your fiancée’s observations may be.”

“How is she otherwise?” Laurel June asked, as though itching to change the subject.

“She’s small for her age,” Dr. Crowe said. “She’s at the tenth-percentile for height and the twelfth-percentile for weight. I spared her a blood draw, but I see the effects of minor nutrient deficiencies. On another day, when she’s rested, I’d like her to have bloodwork to confirm. And I saw evidence of many healed injuries, far more than we see with typical children, though none seemed severe.”

“What kind of injuries?” Eliot asked, positive he was not going to like the answer.

Dr. Crowe hesitated before answering. “A couple of marks that look like healed cigarette burns, on her arms. A scar on the back of her leg, maybe three inches long. And bruises. Several of them, all at different stages of healing. Some older than a week… and some a couple of days old.”

Some a couple of days old. Rosie had moved in with Laurel June just six days ago.

Eliot looked incredulously at Laurel June, who was pale and had her eyes closed.

“Junie?”

She flinched, but kept her eyes closed. “I can’t always stop him, Danny. You know what it’s like.”

Eliot’s jaw clenched. He did know what it was like to not be able to save someone. His childhood had been spent trying and failing to protect his siblings.

He took a deep breath. “What can we do for her?” Eliot asked the doctor. 

Dr. Crowe’s eyes flicked back and forth between the siblings for a moment before she spoke. “In the short term, ice packs and child-safe pain relievers to relieve some discomfort from the bruises.” She leaned forward, looking troubled. “In the long term… Rosalia needs a safe and stable home, first and foremost. She needs nutritious food and adequate medical care. She seems to be having some difficulty emotionally, I would imagine from her father’s death, so I would recommend a childhood grief counselor or art therapy, or both. I don’t know which of you, if either, is her primary caregiver, but it will be a lot of work to catch her up to her peers, medically and emotionally, and help her adjust to her new life situation.”

She let her recommendations hang in the air for a moment as Eliot and Laurel June processed them. She stood, gesturing for Buckner to follow her out. “We’ll let you have a few minutes, if you like, before we bring Rosalia down. It was good to meet you two, despite the circumstances. If you need anything, ask the nurses at the desk down the hall.”

They left, and tension hung in the air so thick Eliot was almost choking on it.

Laurel June looked exhausted, and still sat with only one shoe on. She held the other, and after a long moment she began struggling with the laces. She kept her bad wrist resting in her lap, and Eliot could see it starting to swell.

“Let me help,” he said, reaching for the shoe.

She snatched it back. “You’ve done enough ‘helping,’ Danny.”

“What do you want from me?” Eliot demanded.

“I want you to drop off the face of the earth again,” Laurel June snapped, and Eliot wasn’t sure whether she was being sarcastic.

“I told you years ago, I left for your own good,” Eliot said.

“Then leave again.”

“You can’t mean that,” Eliot said.

“Why wouldn’t I? All you’ve done since you been back is make everything about you.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means you’re the prodigal son, Danny. You come back, the perfect opposite of Chase. You made somethin’ of yourself, you got a fiancée an’ friends an’ a job an’ a purpose, an’ you  _ got out.  _ ‘Course people pay attention to you. An’ then you make Rosie love you so much she wants to live with you even though you didn’t even know she  _ existed  _ until three days ago, an’ she—she don’t give a shit about me anymore, an’ I’ve known about her an’ been there for her since she was  _ born.” _

She swiped angry tears from her eyes and staunchly avoided Eliot’s gaze.

“Why’d you call the cops, Danny?” she demanded.

“Wh—why?” Eliot repeated. “Are you serious?”

“My husband is in jail because of you,” Laurel June cried. “You even had to make my marriage about you.”

“Did we hear different stories?” Eliot demanded, narrowly avoiding letting it slip that her house was bugged. “Did I not hear that Hunter threw you on the ground by your broken wrist? An’  _ you’re _ an adult. You saw what he did to Rosie, an’ she’s just a kid. He deserves to be locked up for that alone,” Eliot said. “But I’m willin’ to bet that’s not the worst thing he’s done.”

“Fuck off, Danny,” Laurel June snapped. “It’s my life.”

“It’s not just your life anymore, Junie, and you know that,” Eliot said, his temper flaring higher. “You got Rosie now, an’ a baby on the way. Never mind that  _ you _ don’t deserve the abuse, either.”

“Hunter would  _ never  _ hurt the baby,” Laurel June said, anger flashing in her eyes.

“No ‘fense, Junie, but I don’t believe that for a second.”

“Don’t call me that!” Laurel June snapped, squeezing her eyes shut and throwing her shoe to the ground.

That stopped Eliot in his tracks.

“What?” he asked, utterly disarmed.

Laurel June was crying again, her face red behind her hands.

“Don’t call me Junie.”

“Wh-why not?”

“The only people who call me Junie,” she said, her hand shaking as she swiped at her eyes, “are Hunter and Dad.”

The realization hit Eliot like a ton of bricks. No one except two men who had abused her had called her Junie since he’d been in Oklahoma. Until Eliot. Her brother she was already resentful of.

“Things are different since you left,” Laurel June said, her voice sounding dead. “You left us in that house with Mom and Dad an’ went swannin’ off to God-knows-where tryin’ to fix the world’s problems when you couldn’t even fix your own family. Then you get back an’ don’t even bother letting us know you’re home. That you’re _safe.”_

“J—Laurel June, I—”

“You didn’t come to Meg’s  _ funeral, _ Danny,” she said, her voice breaking. “You never met her kids, either. No one bought that you were _busy._ ‘Specially not Chase an’ Seth, why do you think they stopped talking to you?”

Eliot sat in silence, his stomach roiling with shame and hurt.

“But I kept tryin’, kept reachin’ out. An’ nothin’. Not even after the feds left you alone an’ you  _ coulda  _ come back.”

“I’m sorry,” Eliot whispered. 

“So no, you don’t  _ get  _ to be the only good one who calls me Junie.”

Without looking at her, Eliot picked up her shoe from where it landed and handed it to her. She took it, struggling once more with her shoe. Eliot let the silence sit heavy around the room for a minute or two, until Laurel June finally had her shoe on and tied. Then he got up and slowly, giving her plenty of time to voice displeasure that didn’t come, sat next to her on the table. He kept his hands folded in his lap and didn’t move his gaze from a point on the floor a few feet in front of him.

“I won’t call you that anymore,” he promised. “I’m sorry I was too dumb to catch on.”

“Just a real numbskull,” Laurel June agreed, her words light but tone still upset.

“I’m sorry I didn’t come back once it was safe. I shoulda.”

“Yeah.”

“An’ I’m real sorry I left you an’ everyone else with Marcie an’ Waylon.”

Laurel June hesitated, and when she spoke, she sounded far away. “I wish I had the distance with them you have now.”

“You will. I can help,” Eliot promised. He put a gentle hand on her knee. “I could sit here an’ apologize until sunrise for all the shit I put you through when I left,” Eliot said. “An’ I will, if you want me to.”

“Please, God, don’t,” Laurel June said. Eliot glanced at her and saw a faint smile on her face, and he felt some measure of relief.

“I’m not askin’ for forgiveness, Laurel June,” he said. “I’m a long way off from any of that. But you gotta know that I—”

There was a knock at the door and Eliot fell silent reflexively, his eyes tracing a perimeter in the small room before he could stop them. When he processed what had happened, he scowled. Nate was early.

He got up and opened the door, and the scowl instantly melted off of his face when he saw Rosie in the door, rubbing at her eyes sleepily, her koala tucked under her arm. The bruise on her face had started to deepen to purple blotches. Dr. Crowe stood behind her, holding Rosie’s backpack.

“Here we are,” Dr. Crowe said gently.

Rosie sleepily raised her hands towards Eliot and he picked her up. She immediately settled in, tucking her head into his shoulder.

“I’ve left some info for you two at the nurse’s station,” Dr. Crowe said meaningfully. “It was nice to meet you, Rosalia,” she said softly, patting Rosie’s back. Rosie tensed up at the unexpected touch, but didn’t move. Dr. Crowe waved goodbye to Eliot and Laurel June, and as she left Dr. Velmurugan took her place in the doorway.

“Can I come in?” he asked Laurel June.

Eliot shifted side-to-side with Rosie in his arms as she dozed off and the doctor explained the results of Laurel June’s wrist x-ray. It wasn’t completely broken, but it had never healed perfectly the first time around and the old fracture had reopened slightly with the trauma of the night. He was going to splint the wrist rather than cast it, and a custom splint was their best option.

“I can’t afford a custom one,” Laurel June said quietly.

“Yes, you can,” Eliot said. “I’ll foot the bill if your insurance won’t.”

Laurel June turned to stare at him incredulously. “You’re a teacher. You don’t have that kinda money.”

“Don’t you worry about that,” Eliot said, irritated. She didn’t need to know how he had come into money.

Laurel June squinted at him for a long moment, then turned back to the doctor. “Fine, let’s do it.”

Dr. Velmurugan smiled, tight-lipped and uncomfortable. “We’ll put a soft splint on you tonight, and you can come back tomorrow to get the rigid splint made.”

Laurel June sat quietly, looking discontented and exhausted, as a nurse came in and splinted her arm. She moved over on the exam table so Eliot could lay Rosie down beside her, and the girl fell back asleep immediately, cuddling her koala.

A soft chime sounded in Eliot’s ear, signaling that Hardison had overridden the mute.

_ “Three minutes,” _ Nate said. Eliot coughed in acknowledgement.

“Danny,” Laurel June said. He turned his attention away from the diagrams of lungs and muscles on the walls. “I’m going to take Rosie.”

Eliot bit back what he wanted to say. “What about Hunter?” he asked instead.

Laurel June shrugged sadly and the nurse put a gentle hand on her arm to keep it still. “I don’t know. I thought I could keep her safe from him.”

Eliot debated with himself, then asked, “Are you ready to leave him?”

“Don’t ask me that, Danny.”

“When you are, let me know. I’ll help,” he said, then let it go. “What are you going to do about Dad and Marcie?”

“I’m gonna try to get them to drop their filing,” she said simply.

“How?”

The nurse finished wrapping Laurel June’s wrist and excused herself, reminding her to not get the splint wet before her appointment tomorrow.

“I’ll figure it out,” Laurel June said. “I won’t let her get hurt anymore. I promise.”

_ “Twenty seconds,”  _ Nate warned.

“I, um,” Eliot began. “Listen, Erin an’ I were talkin’…”

Laurel June’s look turned incredulous. “Danny, you’re not—?”

A knock sounded on the door and Eliot cursed. That had not been twenty seconds. Rosie stirred on the exam table and sat up, blinking sleepily.

Eliot sighed and opened the door. Nate stood there, his face not completely settled into Jimmy Papadokalis yet despite his loud suit and greasy-looking hair. He raised an eyebrow at Eliot briefly as if asking for permission to launch into his spiel, then stepped inside before Eliot could give any kind of answer.

“Mister Gillespie, good to see you again, always a pleasure,” he barreled on, finally settling into his persona, his nasally voice grating. He stopped just inside the room. “Ah! Is this Rosalia?” he asked, smiling a crooked-toothed smile at Rosie, who slipped off the exam table and hid behind Laurel June as much as she could.

“Danny?” Laurel June asked cautiously, winding her good arm around Rosie comfortingly.

“Laurel June, this is—”

“Jimmy Papadokalis, ah, esquire,” Nate said, handing over a rumpled business card. “Pleasure. I’m Mister Gillespie’s attorney. I trust he told you about the proceedings?”

“No?” Laurel June said, looking back and forth between Eliot and Nate.

“Erin an’ I are filin’ for custody,” Eliot said quietly. “We think we can provide for her better up in Portland.”

“Portland?” Laurel June demanded. “You’re gonna try to take her away from her  _ family?” _

“I’m her family, too,” Eliot said, anger flashing in the pit of his stomach, but he tamped it down. Not now.

“Ah, there’s some  _ tension  _ here,” Nate said, and Eliot shot a glare at him. “So, ah, I’ll just hand this over, and be on my way.” He pulled a sheaf of papers from his ratty briefcase and handed it to Laurel June.

“Thanks, Jimmy,” Eliot muttered, shaking Nate’s hand.

“Uh-huh. Miss Classen,” Nate said, “the hearing will likely be in about two weeks, here in the City. I’m scheduling it in the morning.”

“Okay,” Laurel June said, looking like the fight had drained out of her.

Nate bent down to be at eye level with Rosie. “It was nice to meet you, sweetie,” he said, dropping the nasally voice ever so slightly. “I’ll see you again soon.”

He winked at Eliot when Laurel June couldn’t see, and left. Laurel June stared at the papers in her hands.

“Danny,” she said. “What are you doing?”

Eliot felt guilt spike through him, but he knew, somewhere deep in the pit of his belly, that he was doing the right thing. “That bruise on her face shouldn’t’a happened, Laurel June,” he said simply, tiredly. “You shouldn’t hafta have a splint on your arm. An’ I can’t let Dad an’ Marcie treat another kid how they treated us.”

“We turned out okay,” Laurel June said.

Eliot laughed sadly. “No, we didn’t.”

Laurel June pressed her mouth into a hard line and said nothing, just squeezed Rosie tighter with her good arm, leaning down to kiss the top of her head.

“I’m sorry, Laurel June,” Eliot said simply. “If I get her, you’ll always be welcome to see her.”

“I think you should go, Danny,” Laurel June said calmly, evenly.

“How are you gonna get home?” Eliot asked. “I was gonna drive y’all.”

“I’ll call Jack,” she said. “He lives near here, anyhow.”

“Okay,” Eliot said, figuring it better to not dig his heels in this time. He hesitated. “We’re headin’ back to Portland tomorrow afternoon,” he said. “We’ll be back for the hearing.”

Laurel June’s eyes flicked to the stack of papers sitting next to her on the exam table and back to Eliot. “Okay,” she said.

Rosie stepped out of Laurel June’s loose embrace and reached for Eliot. He swung her up to his hip and squeezed tight. “I’ll be back in a couple weeks, punkin,” he promised. “You take care of Aunt Laurel June, ‘kay?”

“She hurt her arm,” Rosie said.

“It got hurt, yeah,” Eliot agreed. “That’s why she needs extra love right now, so her arm can get better faster. Can you help her out?”

“Yeah,” Rosie said confidently.

“Good. Gimme a hug,” Eliot said, and Rosie hugged him so hard around the neck it set warning bells off in the back of his mind. When she finally let go, Eliot carefully settled her on the exam table. “I’ll see you soon,” he repeated.

Laurel June stood and hugged Eliot almost absentmindedly.

“Keep me updated on how things are goin’ around here?” Eliot asked.

Laurel June hesitated, then nodded. “You take care of yourself, Danny,” she said. Almost as an afterthought, she said, “I’ll talk to Mom and Dad.”

Eliot nodded, choosing not to voice his fear that broaching such a touchy subject would put her in hot water. She knew it would. “See you in a couple weeks. I’ll let you know the date.”

With that, he left, feeling what was left of his heart splinter apart with each step he took away from the hospital room.

_ “I’m in the east stairwell,”  _ Nate said softly.

Eliot sagged against a doorway for a moment and dragged a hand down his face, but as a nurse rounded a corner ahead of him, he shoved himself upright and kept walking.

“You alright, sir?” the nurse asked.

“I’m fine,” he assured her without looking up.

_ “It’s over with, Eliot,”  _ Sophie said softly.

_ “You did good,”  _ Hardison chimed in.

Eliot waited until he was around a corner from the nurse before he replied. “Hardison, start lookin’ for houses in Portland.”

_ “Oh, uh,”  _ Hardison floundered.  _ “Sure. We can get a realtor, let them do the heavy lifting.” _

“Yeah, fine,” Eliot said. “How many bedrooms we want?”

_ “At least three,”  _ Parker chimed in, and she and Hardison began debating the features they wanted in a house.

Eliot listened hard, trying to distract himself from the scene he’d just left. When he got to the stairwell, Nate clapped his hand on his shoulder and started down the stairs without a word, and Eliot followed. Hardison finished up his discussion with Parker and resumed his report about schools as Eliot and Nate made their way to the car.

“We need anything on the way back to the hotel?” Nate asked.

“No,” Eliot answered, then reconsidered. “Actually, Parker?”

_ “Yeah?” _

“You mind pulling the bugs outta Laurel June’s house, an’ then breakin’ into my dad’s?”

* * *

Hardison was asleep, half on top of Eliot, when Parker returned to the hotel. Eliot was wide awake, his mind a whirlwind of painful images, hard questions, and half-formed emotions.

Was he doing the right thing?

Laurel June’s protest against Eliot taking Rosalia to Portland weighed heavy on his mind. Hunter, Waylon, and Marcie might be in Spencer, but so were Laurel June, Seth, Aunt Lois, Uncle Mike, Jack… There were good people here. Was it fair to take Rosie away from the good parts of her family to keep her safe from the bad parts?

And what about Danae Baker, Rosalia’s birth mother? Where was she? Would Danae or her family try to get custody of Rosie, too?

And Hunter. How were they going to keep him away from Rosie? From Laurel June? Domestic violence charges didn’t stick as often as they should have. Could they dig something, anything, up on him to keep him locked up?

Would Laurel June even  _ consider _ leaving him?

Would he and his partners be good enough parents to Rosalia? She deserved the world, and they could throw as much money at a problem as they needed to, but money didn’t ensure a well-rounded, emotionally mature and stable, successful kid. Would he be able to nurture her strengths, support her through her difficulties, set her up for life? Was he too fucked up for that?

He’d heard some statistic once, that something like half of all abused kids went on to become abusers themselves. His own childhood had been a nightmare; what did that mean for Rosie? Which half of abused kids did he belong to?

Eliot heard the hotel door open and tensed, but relaxed when he didn’t hear another sound. Parker didn’t make noise at night, even when she wasn’t committing crimes. He listened hard, desperate for some respite from his thoughts. He dug the earbud out of his ear and tossed it in the direction of the night stand, no longer needing to be Parker’s lifeline in case she got caught while burgling.

He heard the soft clack of plastic on the granite countertop of the bar in the living room, and a moment later Parker came into the bedroom. Eliot heard quiet shuffling as Parker changed for bed, and he opened the arm that wasn’t beneath Hardison’s head. Parker slid into bed next to him and pulled the covers over herself.

“You’re still up?” she asked at a whisper.

“Yeah.”

Parker settled in and lay quietly for a long time. Eliot’s mind resumed its whirlwind. 

Parker raised her hand slowly and smacked it down on Eliot’s forehead lightly. “You’re thinking too loud,” she said, her voice already sounding sleepy.

“Am I doin’ the right thing?” Eliot whispered. 

Parker hummed softly and seemed to wake up more. She grabbed at Eliot’s hand and traced loopy designs on the back of his hand. “I think so.”

“I’m taking Rosie away from the good parts of her family,” Eliot said.

Parker sighed tiredly. “They can come visit, or we can come visit them here,” she said. “We’ll buy the plane tickets, we can afford it.”

“And Hunter?”

“We plant evidence if we have to,” Parker said, as if reading his mind.

Eliot hesitated. His mind kept coming back to the big question.

“You think I’d be a good guardian?” he asked, his voice small and broken, and the sound of his voice alone scared him.

“Yes.”

There was no hesitation. Parker’s fingers stilled on his hand and she pressed her palm over his hand firmly.

“I don’t know a lot about dads,” she hedged. “But I know the kind of dad I needed when I was a scared autistic kid. You’re pretty close.”

“Park, half of abused kids go on to be—”

“The cycle of abuse is a fallacy to absolve abusers of their wrongdoing and turn abused kids into future villains who need to be controlled or isolated,” Parker interrupted, her voice harsh. This was not the first time she’d had this conversation. She softened some. “You’re committed to being a good parent, and that’s what counts. That commitment is going to show through everything you do. You won’t be perfect, but that’s okay.”

Eliot distantly wondered whether Sophie had taught her how to calm him down. Granted, this was a distinctly-Parker reassurance, so maybe not.

“You’re better at this than you give yourself credit for,” he said.

Parker hummed. “I’m right,” she said, poking Eliot on the forehead with each syllable.

Eliot chuckled. “You are.”

“I know I am,” Parker said. She yawned. “’m going to sleep,” she mumbled.

“Night,” Eliot said. “Thanks.”

Parker shrugged slowly, nearly asleep already.

Eliot settled in. He was still anxious and acutely aware that very few of his questions had been answered, but nevertheless he could finally turn his brain off.

He fell into a dreamless sleep, anchored to this room, this bed, this life, by his two partners, one snoring loudly, the other stock still and quiet in the dark. 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings in this chapter for: references to alcoholism, discussions of domestic violence and child abuse and the injuries that result from said violence, discussions of drug use and trafficking, mentions of disowning and homophobia, ableism, references to unspecified war crimes, verbal abuse

_ And slowly to the wreckage we will come  
_ _ There to dye our lives a different shade  
_ _ And grasp at every ray of sun  
_ _ To light the shadows we have made _

“Kick Out the Windows”—Parsonsfield

“Here good?” Eliot asked, gesturing to a booth.

“Sure,” Seth replied awkwardly, sliding in.

A waitress appeared out of nowhere and put menus on the table. Seth’s hands shook faintly as he stared at a smaller spiral-bound menu. Eliot realized it was the drink menu.

“Hey, lemme see that,” he said casually, taking the menu from his brother. He gave it a cursory glance, noting its subpar beer selection, and set it aside.

Seth let out a sigh. “Thanks,” he mumbled. “I, uh, don’t know if you heard about my, um…”

“I did,” Eliot said offhandedly as he studied the regular menu. “How long you been sober?”

Seth huffed out a short laugh. “It’s been, uh… Total, three years, four months, twenty…six days?” he said, looking like he was doing the math in his head. “Had a couple of relapses, nothing big, an’ I’m workin’ on it. Current streak is a year, eight months, an’ one day, I think.”

Eliot smiled. “I’m real proud of you, Seth.”

Seth rolled his eyes. “Alright, knock it off.”

Eliot laughed and picked up the menu again. “You been here before?”

After they ordered their burgers, Seth crossed his arms and leaned back in the booth.

“So, you’re teachin’?” he asked incredulously. “You?”

“Fuck off,” Eliot said with a grin. “Always got better grades than you.”

“That’s ‘cuz  _ you _ could sleep at night,” Seth pointed out, his tone light despite the dark joke.

“That did help,” Eliot said. “Nah, I’m just teachin’ gym. Might be gettin’ an English class or two in the spring.”

Seth laughed. “Gym. Fitting.”

“Alright, smartass, what’s your deal? How you makin’  _ your _ living?”

Seth looked proud of himself. “I’m the lighting designer in residence at the Chesapeake Arena,” he said smugly.

Eliot blinked, genuinely impressed. “Damn,” he said. “Can’t believe my baby brother is makin’ something of himself.”

Seth scoffed. “Yeah, finally.”

The waitress brought their burgers, and Seth took the top bun off his and made a face. Without a word he picked the pickles off of the cheese and dropped them on Eliot’s plate. Eliot popped one in his mouth.

“Still don’t like pickles?”

“They’re nasty, Danny, ‘course I still hate ‘em. They didn’t stop being vinegary and gross,” Seth said irritably.

Eliot shrugged. “More for me.”

“Tell me ‘bout Erin,” Seth said before taking a huge bite of his burger.

“Oh, uh,” Eliot floundered, caught off guard. “She works with me. Met in a staff meeting, it was real cute.”

“Okay,” Seth said with his mouth full. “She seems sweet.”

Eliot almost laughed at that, but controlled himself. Parker was a lot of things, but “sweet” wasn’t one of them.

“She is,” he agreed, hoping he could dig Parker further into the character choice she’d made on a whim. “Volunteers at animal shelters on the weekends.”

Seth thought for a long moment, then put down his burger and sighed. “Danny,” he said. “What are we doin’?”

“Havin’ lunch,” Eliot answered. “Catchin’ up.”

“But we aren’t,” Seth said. “We aren’t sayin’ anything worth anything. Tell me something real, something important.”

Eliot slowly put his burger down and wiped his hands on his napkin. What could he tell Seth? Seth wasn’t a snitch, but he still talked to Laurel June often. Anything he told Seth he would also be telling her.

He bent down to grab the bag at his feet and pulled out a stack of papers. He handed them over and watched as Seth frowned at the heading on the top page.

“Me an’ Erin are filin’ for custody of Rosie,” Eliot said. How’s that for real?

Seth’s eyebrows shot up, but he didn’t look up from the papers. “No shit?” He nodded sagely. “Keep Dad an’ Marcie from gettin’ her, good idea.”

“An’ Hunter.”

“An’ Hunter,” Seth agreed. His brow furrowed and he looked up. “You said when you picked me up that you went to the hospital last night,” he remembered.

Eliot blinked. “No one told you?”

“No one tells me anything, Danny,” Seth said, only a hint of bitterness in his voice. “What didn’t anyone tell me?”

Eliot puffed out his cheeks. “Hunter beat Laurel June up an’ slapped Rosie hard in the face. Rosie called me in a panic an’ I called the cops an’ they showed up an’ arrested him. I went with Laurel June an’ Rosie to the hospital so they could get checked out.”

Seth looked stunned. “Are they okay?”

“No serious injuries,” Eliot said quickly, before Seth could panic. “Rosie’s got a huge bruise on her face, here to here,” he said, drawing the shape on his own face with his finger. “Laurel June’s baby’s okay, but Hunter reopened her wrist fracture. You member the one she got when we were kids, that never healed right?”

Seth’s expression clouded over. “Yeah. Shit.” He looked like he was puzzling over something, then looked up at Eliot. “You know Hunter’s selling drugs, right?”

Eliot blinked. “What?”

Seth nodded. “Got hooked on Oxy a couple years back—workplace injury. He never went off the rails with it or anything, far as I know, but I drove past one of his work sites a couple weeks ago and saw him makin’ a deal behind the building. Might not’ve been Oxy, but it definitely wasn’t legal. It was in a little baggie and everything.”

Eliot carefully filed that information away. That could be their in, their way to keep Hunter away from Laurel June and Rosie, and officially remove him from the custody runnings.

“Well, shit,” Eliot said simply.

“Yeah,” Seth agreed. “Chase’s death really makes that hurt more.”

Eliot nodded, but a nagging feeling sprouted in the pit of his stomach. What if Hunter had been Chase’s dealer?

“You oughta call in a tip about it,” Eliot said.

“Fuck, no,” Seth said. “I don’t want that on my record, I’ve had to talk to cops enough.”

“Then call it in anonymously,” Eliot said. “Get a burner phone or use a pay phone. Hell, use one of my burners.”

Seth raised an eyebrow. “Why do you have burner phones?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Eliot said, aware he had just dug his own grave.

Seth, surprisingly, let it go.

“I’ll think about it.”

“Alright, I told you some real shit, now your turn,” Eliot said, sitting back in his chair and crossing his arms.

Seth pursed his lips as if debating with himself. Then he sighed. “Fine. You wanna know why no one in the family tells me shit?”

“Yeah.”

Seth studied him. “Dad an’ Marcie essentially disowned me because I told ‘em I was gay.”

A grin spread over Eliot’s face. Seth looked uneasy.

“Don’t give me that look, you’re scarin’ me,” he said, looking away.

“Seth,” Eliot said, and waited.

Seth looked back at him. “What?”

“I’m bi.”

Seth blinked, then broke out in his own smile. “Nuh-uh,” he said.

“Yeah,” Eliot confirmed, then took a gamble. “And you, uh, know ‘bout polyamory?”

“Yeah?”

“Erin an’ me, we’re poly, an’ my ‘friend’ Gerald—you met him at the funeral—he’s our partner too,” he said, fudging the exact relationship right along with their names. Better not complicate things with explaining queerplatonic relationships right now or blow their cover.

Seth looked surprised. “Damn, Danny, good job. Gerald’s cute.”

Eliot laughed. “Yeah, yeah. So, what, you got a boyfriend?”

Seth rolled his eyes. “I might.”

Eliot looked mock-serious. “He treat you right? I gotta vet him?”

“You don’t gotta do nothin’, fuck off,” Seth said with a laugh.

“How serious we talkin’?”

“We been together three years,” Seth said. “So, a million in gay years. Pretty serious.”

“I’m meeting him when we get back to town for the hearing,” Eliot said, brooking no argument.

* * *

Eliot was antsy on the flight back to Portland. There was a lot to do, and he could do almost none of it in the air. Luckily, he sat next to Hardison, who was an excellent distraction from his mind. Parker had requested to sit on her own, promising she was okay, just needed some time to herself, and sat three rows farther back in business class.

“See, they got these big-ass robots, call ‘em Jaegers, and they got two pilots—” Hardison said, staring at his hands and infodumping to Eliot. He kept going, explaining the worldbuilding behind his current favorite movie, and Eliot fished a stim toy out of Hardison’s bag.

Hardison’s voice was soothing, even if Eliot wasn’t particularly interested in the subject.

Eliot wanted this for Rosie. Having people around her who accepted her and her autism and her idiosyncrasies and shared them, who encouraged her to be herself, who understood her. There was no better feeling in the world than feeling completely safe and supported, and Eliot felt it with his partners. Raising Rosie, like raising any kid, would be tough, but they had several distinct advantages over the other people fighting for custody: they were autistic themselves and thus understood the autistic experience, they had the funds to provide for her, and they could keep her safe from nearly every threat she may encounter.

Nate and Sophie were still in Oklahoma City for another week, planning to oversee Rosalia’s evaluations and prepare their case before returning to Portland for a few days. Nate didn’t foresee any problems with his case, but as always, he wanted to run contingencies and have plans B through Z with Parker, just in case. Eliot was happy to let them do that; he had other things to get ready for, like raising a child and living with his partners.

“—they’re not romantic, it’s really nice, not a lotta action movies let their different-gender costars be platonic unless they’re related, but Mako and Raleigh aren’t. So it’s this really cool exploration of what humanity can  _ do _ when something threatens the whole world—not like other movies where the apocalypse happens and society dissolves like  _ that,”  _ Hardison said with a snap of his fingers.

Eliot hummed and Hardison continued, content with Eliot merely listening and not trying to get a word in edgewise (he wouldn’t have been able to, anyway).

This. Eliot wanted this for Rosie. He wanted her to always feel comfortable not talking, or talking at length about her special interests. He wanted her to feel safe in avoiding touch and eye contact. He wanted her to feel confident advocating for herself and her needs and wants. He wanted her to feel loved, and understood, and important. Everyone deserved that.

And Eliot, Parker, and Hardison could do that for her.

* * *

_ “Hunter was released this morning,” _ Nate said.

Eliot cursed.

_ “But,”  _ Nate said,  _ “someone called in an anonymous tip that he’s been selling and doing drugs. They searched his house and found stashes of pills and—get this—heroin.” _

Eliot sat down heavily on the overly staged living room couch. Parker paused in her sweep of the room and came over, concern on her face.

“Seth said something like that,” Eliot said, his voice small. The nagging feeling that Hunter had sold to Chase flared up again in his stomach, egged on by more evidence. “I told him to call it in.”

_ “He apparently did. They arrested Hunter on the spot. He’s looking at ten to twenty-five, all told,”  _ Nate said. Eliot breathed a sigh of relief.  _ “I also, ah, arranged so his boss heard about the allegations and he got fired, just in case the charges don’t go through.” _

Nate quickly wrapped up, apparently sensing Eliot’s mood, and hung up. He and Sophie would be returning to Portland in the morning to have some downtime before the hearing.

“Hunter got arrested on drug trafficking charges,” Eliot told Parker.

“Good,” she said darkly. She brightened up. “Come see the kitchen.”

Their realtor was checking his phone in the dining room when they stepped through to the kitchen, but he looked up, his too-cheery demeanor plastered back on.

“Check out those countertops,” Bill said, gesturing as he put his phone in his pocket. “Danny, I know you wanted butcher block, but these are incredible granite—real, 100%. You can cut on those just as well as on butcher block.”

Eliot’s mind was elsewhere, but he struggled to say something, anything, about the house they were in. “There’s, uh—how many bedrooms did you say?”

“Just two,” Bill said. “But it’s got a huge backyard and a rec room upstairs, I’ll show you in a minute.”

This was the third house Bill had shown them, and nothing had caught their eye. Sure, these houses were fine, and would make great starter homes for young families, but…

Eliot was discontent. House hunting without even knowing if Rosie would even need her bedroom was difficult. Each empty bedroom Parker suggested would be good for Rosie felt hollow, foreboding, a grim reminder that his niece may get sent to live somewhere she’d be in danger. A threat that he would never be a father.

If they lost this custody battle, Eliot wasn’t sure he’d ever be ready to try again.

After the third house proved disappointing, Bill pulled Eliot and Parker aside before they left.

“After seeing these, is anything coming to mind that might be missing? Have your priorities shifted?” he asked, concern that didn’t look genuine plastered on his face. “Help me narrow down what to look for, here.”

Parker looked at Eliot as if for help, but Eliot knew she was letting him take the reins. He was leading this job, after all.

“We, uh, might wanna go up to four bedrooms,” Eliot said. Parker had had the idea last night to give each of them their own room and they could come together at night whenever they wanted. “Our buddy Gerald’s thinkin’ about joinin’ us in the house.”

Bill pursed his lips in thought, and Eliot steeled himself for the judgement he knew was coming.

“I’ve got a couple ideas,” Bill said. “Anything else?”

Eliot felt relief wash over him at not having to explain their arrangement. “Uh, it’d be nice if it had a big common area apart from the living room. Like a finished basement or somethin’.”

Bill brightened up. “I’ve got just the place. I’ve gotta check that it’s available for viewing, so give me a day or two. Bring Gerald, I think everyone’s gonna like it.”

Two days later, Eliot, Parker, and Hardison pulled up to a pale yellow Craftsman house with green trim. It didn’t look like much, but Eliot had a soft spot for Craftsman houses, so he was willing to suspend his doubts.

Bill was standing by the front door trembling with excitement. 

“This is it, guys, I know it, this is  _ your _ house,” he called as they crossed the street. Hardison stifled a snicker but composed himself before exchanging introductions with Bill.

“So, quick update,” Bill said as he unlocked the house. “You said four bedrooms. Well, this has six. Two in the basement, three on the first floor, master suite on the whole second floor.”

Hardison shared a look with Parker and they both turned to Eliot and shrugged.

“We could use the extra space,” Parker said.

“Excellent,” Bill crowed, and pushed the door open.

The front room was staged, and poorly, but Eliot immediately loved the house. Its light walls were broken halfway down by dark wood wainscoting that continued into the hall to the left. A fireplace sat off to the right, and Eliot immediately pictured winter evenings roasting marshmallows there with his little family. Through a wide archway he could see into the dining room, with its built-in china cabinet and bay window, and beyond that he thought he saw the kitchen.

“Ooh,” Parker breathed as they stepped in.

“I love this,” Hardison said.

“It’s nice, right?” Bill asked, grinning ear to ear. “So the house was built in 1906 and has only had three different families live in it since then. The most recent, obviously, undertook a renovation project. They kept a lot of the original features, though, just updated utilities and the kitchen,” Bill rambled as he wandered further into the house. He walked into the kitchen and Eliot followed.

The kitchen was much brighter than the front room, all traces of dark wood gone and replaced with butcher block countertops and cabinets painted white. Eliot ran a practiced eye over the room, noting what size of refrigerator they could squeeze in there and that they probably had room for a decently sized gas range. He tried not to get swept up in his imagination again, but when he saw the bar stools pulled up next to the kitchen island, he imagined sliding breakfast plates across the counter to his partners and Rosie, all asleep on their feet.

“You could make a lotta snacks in here,” Hardison muttered to himself, and the spell was broken.

Bill was still rambling about the kitchen, pulling open a door at the back of the room to reveal a mudroom and door out to the backyard, patting the countertops to show how solid they were, pointing out the two sinks, adjusting the blinds in the windows…

Finally, Bill led them down the hallway to the three bedrooms on the main level. The first was at the front of the house, and Eliot immediately disqualified that for Rosie. Too close to the street. That could be an office, to take clients in. The next was more like it, but still small. Maybe a playroom. The third, at the back corner of the house, was perfect.

Parker nudged him. “This one, I think.”

“That’s what I was thinkin’,” Eliot agreed.

“First one’s way too close to the street,” Hardison said, and Eliot had never loved him more than he did right now.

“What’s that?” Bill asked, looking vaguely lost.

Eliot cleared this throat. “We’re discussin’ which room would be best for our daughter,” he said. They’d told Bill they were finalizing an adoption.

“Right, right,” Bill said, and led them out of the room. “Next up, the master suite.”

The master suite took up the whole of the second floor; it was one long room with sloped ceilings and little nooks in the eaves and a bathroom to one side. Parker hummed and ran her hand along the banister approvingly. Hardison immediately went off in exploration of the nooks, but Eliot was entranced with the largest open area in the room, in which sat a large bed. His mind’s eye supplied him an image of a quiet night, Hardison on his laptop in bed with Eliot reading next to him and Parker already asleep between them, Beate snoring in her own bed in one of the eaves.

“Closets, back this way,” Bill called from the rear of the room, but Eliot made his way to the window instead.

The neighborhood was nice, quiet. They’d need to do more research into the neighbors, but initial glimpses seemed promising enough. It was early in October, but some houses had cheesy Halloween decorations out already. Hardison would get a kick out of that.

In time Bill led them to the basement, chattering as he went.

“Fully finished, with new carpeting,” he said as Eliot and his partners stepped into a wide room with low ceilings. There was a wall dividing the space into a U-shape, and Eliot knew Hardison was imagining one side as a briefing room.

“We’ve got two bedrooms off over here, then the laundry room and a wet bar over there.”

Eliot was, frankly, overwhelmed. Each room gave him flashes of his life in this house, with Rosie and Parker and Hardison and Beate. Movie nights. Sick days. Helping with homework. Dance recitals.

Hardison hung back as Parker went to inspect the bedrooms. “You good?” he asked gently.

Eliot cleared his throat. “Yeah,” he said, and it was only mostly a lie. 

“We don’t have to say yes right now,” Hardison said softly.

“I know,” Eliot said. It came out rougher than he’d meant it to.

“So!” Bill said, coming back into the room and clapping his hands together excitedly. “Thoughts?”

Later that evening, surrounded by empty dinner dishes and half-drained beer bottles at the brewpub apartment’s kitchen table, no one spoke. Hardison stared at the table and rubbed his chin. Parker poked idly at the last few pieces of potato on her plate with a fork. Eliot crossed his arms over his chest and chewed his lip.

“So,” Hardison finally began.

Parker blew out a breath and put the fork down. “I liked it.”

“I did, too,” Hardison agreed. “Eliot?”

Eliot nodded without looking up. “Yeah.”

“Yeah?” Hardison prompted.

Eliot finally looked up. “We can’t buy it yet,” he said. “It’s perfect, but it’s six bedrooms. We can’t justify that with just the three of us.”

“We’ll have Rosie,” Parker said confidently, and Eliot shook his head.

“Don’t,” he warned. “Don’t jinx it. If we get confident we’ll win, we’ll let our guard down an’ somethin’ will slip through the cracks. I believe in us, but I also know my folks. They don’t fight fair.”

They fell silent.

“Well,” Hardison said. “How’s this? We pay off Bill to hold the house for us until the hearing, then buy it if we get Rosie, an’ let it go if we don’t?”

“What about the brewpub?” Parker asked. “If we buy the house, I mean.”

Eliot swiped a hand down his face. “I don’t think we could run this place  _ an’  _ keep doin’ jobs  _ an’  _ parent a kid.”

“Then we sell the pub,” Hardison said simply, and Eliot was more than a little angry to hear him so casually dismiss the business they’d put so much effort into making successful. “Or hire operation managers to handle day-to-day an’ rent out this apartment.”

Parker nodded. “We could keep ownership of the pub and make the big decisions. We have time for that. There’s three of us, and how many parents do kids really  _ need _ anyway? One? Two?”

“Typically, two,” Eliot said offhandedly. It was true that they were a larger and more involved set of parents than most kids had, and Rosie wasn’t a baby; it would be hard, but… surely, they could do a better job than his father and stepmother, or even Laurel June. “Fuck, we gotta write a will,” he muttered suddenly.

“One thing at a time,” Hardison reminded him gently.

Eliot heard footsteps outside the room and tensed until the door opened and Nate stuck his head in. “Hardison, did you ever scan over that form for me?”

“Yup,” Hardison responded. “Un-mumbo-jumboed the legalese so I can explain anything you need, an’ it’s all filled out an’ everythin’ in your inbox, you just hafta sign.”

“Great,” Nate said, then seemed to read the room. “What’s going on in here?”

“We’re all sad because we don’t want to buy the house we really like yet,” Parker said bluntly.

“I’m not sad, Parker,” Eliot said. “Just cautious.”

Nate came fully into the living room and ambled over to the table with his hands stuck in his pockets. “Hmm. The house?”

“Craftsman, built in 1906, six bedrooms,” Eliot said. “Nice backyard. Finished basement where we could put a briefing room.”

“Kitchen?” Nate prompted.

“Thing is,” Eliot said, ignoring the obvious bait, “it’d be a bad idea to buy it now in case we don’t win custody.”

Nate pursed his lips and hummed in thought. “Yeah, I get that.”

Eliot groaned and smacked his hands down on the table lightly. He pulled himself upright. “Let’s just fuckin’ pay off the realtor to hold the house ‘til we know. Hardison, make it happen. I’m goin’ to bed.”

“Don’t forget to pack,” Nate reminded Eliot as he left to crash in Hardison’s room. “Flight’s at noon tomorrow.”

“Great,” Eliot grunted, anxiety about the hearing settling around him like the thin layer of static on the glass of an old television set right after turning it off.

As the door closed behind him and he was alone, though, his phone rang. He frowned at the Washington, DC area code but answered it anyway.

“Yeah.”

_ “Spencer,”  _ a gruff, familiar voice said.

“Vance,” Eliot greeted. He stopped in his slow trudge to Hardison’s room and leaned against the wall. “Miss me already?”

_ “I’ll cut to the chase,”  _ Vance said, ignoring Eliot’s jab.  _ “I caught wind of a tip about your whereabouts for the next few days, given to the Army base in Lawton, Oklahoma. Or, rather, Daniel Gillespie’s whereabouts.” _

Eliot squeezed his eyes closed. “Shit. You know who called in the tip?”

_ “Database says an older woman with a Southern accent. Talked to the guy who took the call, said she had a real attitude about it. Otherwise anonymous.” _

Eliot growled. “Marcie.”

_ “It looks like they’re preparing court martial proceedings for desertion,”  _ Vance continued.  _ “I can’t do much from here, especially given the heat I took last time you were in DC, but I thought I would give you a heads up.” _

Eliot scrubbed a hand down his face. “Thanks, Vance. I have an idea.”

_ “Don’t tell me anything about it,”  _ Vance cautioned.  _ “And don’t call me until you have this squared away legally.” _

“Miss you, too,” Eliot said, and hung up. He debated with himself for a long moment, and then, giving up, he dialed a different number, one he had hoped to never dial.

* * *

Eliot’s stomach fluttered as he and Parker stood on Laurel June’s front porch. Now that he knew the Army was looking for him, he felt twice as many pairs of eyes on him as usual when he was outside the safety of his own home.

Parker squeezed his hand. “We’re about to see Rosie,” she reminded him at a whisper, an excited smile on her face.

Eliot couldn’t help but smile at that, but after a moment his suddenly lightened mood dropped some when he remembered the huge bruise that had been on his niece’s face the last time that he’d seen her. He was willing to bet that he would never get that image out of his head.

Parker reached up to ring the doorbell again, and it was only a couple of seconds before the door opened. Marcie stood in the doorway wearing a tight-lipped smile.

“Hi, hi, come in,” she said, beckoning them in with feigned warmth.

“Hey, Marce,” Eliot greeted, feigning joviality right back.

Waylon was in Hunter’s chair with his feet up, and Eliot was struck by the parallels between the two. The two men who had hurt Laurel June the most, sitting the same way in the same chair with the same brand of beer in hand and watching the same sports, only a few days apart. Eliot had to look away, anger boiling just under his skin.

“When did you get in? You eat yet?” Marcie asked, her eyebrows climbing up her forehead in the way they did when she wasn’t being genuine.

“We grabbed lunch on our way over,” Eliot replied. “Laurel June around?”

Marcie dropped the fake hospitality and looked vaguely displeased, but plastered a smile back on her face a moment later. “Junie was just nappin’. Rosie, too. I’ll go see if they’re even up for visitors.”

She left, and Waylon acknowledged Eliot and Parker with a grunt and half-smile.

“Patriots-Jets recap is on,” he said, pointing to the TV with the rim of his Miller Lite. “Brady had a crazy run, you shoulda seen ‘im. Fifty-some yards.”

“Wow,” Eliot said noncommittally, not budging from where he and Parker stood near the door.

Waylon grunted, satisfied with that answer, and took a long pull of beer.

Marcie returned with a sleepy Rosalia in tow and a rumpled Laurel June trailing behind. Rosie stopped for a moment when she saw Eliot, then she toddled over as fast as her drowsiness would allow. She grabbed Eliot’s shirt tight with both hands and scrambled up his body until he helped her the rest of the way up to rest on his hip, making Eliot wonder if Parker was getting ideas about training her in thievery. She wordlessly laid her head on his shoulder, patted his chest contentedly, and reached out her other hand towards Parker, and Eliot’s heart melted.

“Hi Rosie,” Parker said gently. 

Laurel June hung back. She looked terrible; her wrist was still in the splint, her hair was tangled, her skin was even paler than usual, and she had dark circles under her eyes.

“C’mere,” Eliot said, opening his free arm for a hug.

Laurel June trudged over to him and leaned forward until she bonked her head into his shoulder. Eliot laughed and patted the back of her head.

Rosie patted Eliot’s chest insistently until he looked at her.

“I wanna watch Nemo,” she said.

“Then let’s go watch Nemo,” Eliot replied.

Laurel June straightened up slowly. “There’s a TV in my room,” she said.

Eliot and Parker followed Laurel June to the master bedroom, Rosalia humming happily in Eliot’s arms. Eliot took the opportunity to study her; from what he could tell, the bruise on her face was almost gone, just yellow in some places, and her eye and lip were no longer swollen. He was so preoccupied with examining his niece’s face that he almost missed Marcie pulling her phone out and dialing a number. Almost.

Laurel June closed the bedroom door behind them and Eliot put Rosie down. She bounced onto the bed as Laurel June fumbled with the TV. Eliot studied the room. The pill bottles that had been all over one bedside table were gone, as was a suitcase that had been wedged between the dresser and the wall. The floor was now littered with clothes, and the bedside table that hadn’t once had pill bottles on it was covered with dishes and crumpled tissues.

Laurel June looked up to see Eliot and Parker standing awkwardly near the door.

“Sit down, come on,” Laurel June said with a good-natured smile. “I don’t bite.”

Eliot laughed and kicked off his shoes. Parker did the same and they climbed up onto the bed and sat against the headboard. Rosie turned to face them and reached out to feel the texture of Parker’s pants cuff, then Eliot’s, with stiff fingers. She caught herself and pulled her hand back, looking vaguely upset. Eliot glanced at Parker and saw her face flash with recognition and anger.

“You don’t have to stop, Rosie,” Parker said gently when she got her expression under control.

Laurel June looked over her shoulder.

“You didn’t hear?” she asked. She put down the DVD and came up to put her hands over Rosie’s ears, making the girl flinch and try to wriggle away. “She’s got autism—diagnosed Tuesday. You’re not supposed to let ‘em fidget however they want.”

“We heard,” Eliot said.

“It’s not considered helpful to stop them from stimming,” Parker said, her voice tight with barely-contained ire as she tried to remain civil. “That science is outdated now.”

Eliot narrowly avoided making a face at Parker saying “them,” as though she and Eliot were not also autistic, but he remembered their covers were neurotypical, or something like it.

Laurel June looked like she was going to argue, but she dropped it and let Rosie go. Rosie shook her head hard and scratched at the sides of her head where Laurel June had been touching.

“We’ve watched Nemo about eight times this week,” Laurel June said as she went back to messing with the DVD. “I started just keepin’ the DVD in here ‘stead of puttin’ it away. S’pose I should put a stop to it soon.”

“Fish are friends,” Rosie quoted in a whisper. 

“Not food,” Parker finished, and Rosie broke out in a huge smile.

Laurel June finally got the movie started and settled in next to Eliot. Rosie turned around to face the screen, blocking Eliot’s view almost entirely, though he did catch glimpses as she rocked side to side, her fingers playing across the comforter as if disconnected from her body and conscious effort.

They had only reached the part where Marlin and Dory were abducted by sharks when there was a knock on the front door. A few moments later the bedroom door opened and Marcie came in, looking more than a little smug. Behind her were three soldiers in fatigues—Army.

Eliot’s jaw clenched and his eyes darted to Rosie. She shouldn’t be seeing this. How dare Marcie bring these men into her daughter’s home? Did she want to further traumatize Laurel June and Rosalia?

“Daniel Gillespie?” the soldier in front asked, his voice hard.

Eliot sat up. “Marcie, take Rosalia into the other room,” he said quietly, more calmly than he thought possible.

“Sir,” another soldier spoke up. “Answer the question. Are you Daniel Gillespie?”

“I am,” Eliot confirmed.

Marcie didn’t move.

“Laurel June,” Eliot pleaded, not taking his eyes off the soldiers. “Please.”

“I—I—” Laurel June sputtered, her voice tiny. She shrank back into the headboard.

“Sir, we have to ask you to come with us,” the first soldier said. “Come willingly and we may be able to avoid handcuffs.”

“Why?” Eliot asked, not budging. “Before you answer, let my sister and niece leave the room. They don’t need to see this.”

“They will need to stay where they are,” the third soldier said, his voice harsh.

“You have been charged with desertion of your post and dereliction of duty beginning in February of 2004,” the first soldier said.

“Am I being court martialed?” Eliot asked.

“Yes,” the second soldier said, the “duh” plain in his tone.

“Gillespie,” the first soldier barked, “come with us. That’s an order.”

Eliot finally moved, slowly making his way to the edge of the bed and standing up. “I outrank you, Sergeant,” he said coldly, staring steadily at him.

“Master Sergeant,” the first soldier corrected. “Sir.”

“Let’s  _ go,”  _ the third soldier said.

Eliot looked back at Parker. “Call the lawyer and your brother,” he said. She nodded, fear in her eyes. He looked at Laurel June, who was frozen on the bed, staring at him, white as a ghost. “I’m sorry this happened,” he said gently.

Rosie had been quiet and still until he stood up, but she was crying now. She crawled over to Eliot and he hugged her and kissed the top of her head. She tried to climb into his arms but he held her back. “I’ll be back soon, punkin, you just stay with Aunt Laurel, okay?”

When Rosalia finally sat, shrinking into Laurel June’s side, Eliot turned back to the soldiers just as there was another knock at the front door. “I’m going to put on my shoes,” he said, and a few moments later he straightened up. “Okay, let’s go.”

“Marcie!” Waylon called from the living room.

“Hold on!” Marcie called back.

The first two soldiers grabbed at Eliot, each holding one of his upper arms tight and pulling him out of the room. Eliot fought to keep from reacting. It would not help his case if the soldiers showed up to the court martial hearing with broken noses and bruised spleens.

As they muscled Eliot into the living room, he heard a familiar voice at the door—one that both pissed him off and, weirdly, made relief wash over him.

“You can let him go,” Sterling said, stepping into view.

“I’m afraid we can’t do that, sir,” the second soldier said.

Sterling smiled smugly and flipped his badge open. “James Sterling. Interpol.”

The first soldier, who held Eliot’s right side, hesitated. “I don’t believe you have jurisdiction over military law enforcement, sir.”

Sterling clicked his tongue in chastisement and held out a hand. “Radio your superiors,” he said, “and we can get this all sorted.”

The first soldier floundered for a moment, then pulled out his radio and spoke into it. After a long moment a voice came through.

_ “Sullivan,”  _ the gruff voice said.

“Sir, I’ve got Marks and Hernandez here with me to bring in Gillespie,” the first soldier said. “Guy just showed up, says he’s Interpol and is ordering us to release the prisoner.”

There was a long pause.  _ “…And?”  _ the man on the radio, Sullivan, asked.

“He doesn’t have jurisdiction here, does he, sir?”

_ “He does. Dammit,”  _ Sullivan said, frustration coming through even under the tinny sound of the radio.  _ “Don’t release Gillespie yet, let me talk to Interpol.” _

The Master Sergeant handed the radio to Sterling, who grinned cheekily at him. “James Sterling, Interpol,” he said, his smarmy voice making Eliot’s blood boil even as he was grateful for the help.

_ “Sterling, this is Sergeant Major Sullivan, Fort Sill. What seems to be the problem?” _

Sterling shrugged. “Your men are holding an informant who has been working with Interpol since before he deserted the Army in 2003,” Sterling said. “Daniel Gillespie was advised by us to leave his post at the time.”

_ “…And I’m just hearing about this now,”  _ Sullivan said, skepticism plain in his voice.

“I can’t speak to the reasoning behind keeping the Army in the dark before I joined Interpol, but the case only came across my desk yesterday,” Sterling said, expertly avoiding saying exactly how Eliot’s case had come across his desk in the first place. “My guess is that certain parties involved in the case needed to be dealt with or forced to retire before it was safe and prudent to reveal the deception, and somewhere along the way the office forgot.”

_ “And what is the nature of this case, precisely?”  _ Sullivan asked, his patience wearing thin.

“War crimes, Sergeant Major, war crimes. Mr. Gillespie’s commanding officers ordered him to commit acts condemned by the Geneva Convention. He came to us for guidance in 2003, and we advised desertion while we took care of it from a legal standpoint.”

There was a long silence. Waylon sat bolt upright in Hunter’s chair, his brows furrowed in that way Eliot had never been able to parse. Laurel June appeared at the door, staring at Eliot in a way that told him she’d heard everything. He broke eye contact with her to stare at the floor. He hated his sister seeing him like this. At least Rosie wasn’t with her.

_ “I’ll need to see documentation of all of these claims, and there will be a hearing,”  _ Sullivan finally said.  _ “These are heavy accusations.” _

“Of course, Sergeant Major,” Sterling cooed. “I wouldn’t come all this way for anything less than a heavy accusation.”

_ “Caldwell, release Gillespie and return to base ASAP.” _

The soldiers gripping Eliot’s arms dropped their hands immediately and stepped away.

Caldwell, the soldier in charge, frowned at Eliot, but spoke into the radio as Sterling handed it back to him. “Yes, sir.”

And then they were gone. The soldiers piled into a car and left, muttering amongst themselves when they thought they were out of earshot.

No one inside the house spoke.

Sterling brushed his hands down his suit jacket and straightened his shirt cuffs with an air of putting himself back together, though he still looked as buttoned-up as ever. “Well,” he said to no one in particular. “Glad I got here in time.”

“Sterling—” Eliot started, not entirely sure how he planned to end that sentence.

Sterling held up a hand to stop him, looking annoyed, then pointed at Eliot. “I’ll take care of this, but you owe me one,” he said.

Eliot stepped forward, his hands itching to hit Sterling, for old time’s sake, but he pushed that down in favor of sticking his hand out.

“Thanks,” he said simply.

Sterling shook his hand, then shoved his hands in his pockets casually and turned to leave. “See you at the trial,” he called over his shoulder.

All at once, everyone in the house started talking.

_ “War crimes,  _ Danny?” Waylon demanded.

“The hell was that?” Marcie asked, an unconvincing confused expression on her face.

“Interpol,” Laurel June muttered under her breath, little emotion in her voice.  _ “Interpol.” _

“Na—uh,  _ Jimmy  _ is on the way, Danny,” Parker said.

And Rosalia, her tiny hand clutching Parker’s shirt hem tight, just stared blankly after Sterling and the soldiers.

“Tell Jimmy it’s okay,” Eliot told Parker, not fully paying attention to the words coming out of his mouth. He was the one who brought more chaos into Rosie’s life this time.

“Fucking war crimes,” Waylon spat, struggling to get to his feet. “My  _ son,  _ the war criminal.”

“Dad, I left so I w—”

“Marcie, we’re leaving,” Waylon half-yelled as he finally got up and headed for the door. Marcie jumped next to Eliot and hurriedly followed her husband.

Waylon turned back just before he closed the door. He wiped his mouth, his eyes hard with fury, and then jabbed a finger at Eliot. “You straighten this out, boy. I won’t have a war criminal for a son, an’ my  _ granddaughter  _ ain’t livin’ with you anytime soon, whether it’s true or not.”

He left without letting Eliot speak, and slammed the door as soon as Marcie slipped through.

Eliot stared after him, trembling all over. He’d been interrogated, shot, tortured, drugged, and beaten to a pulp, yet his father raising his voice at him still reduced him to a mass of jelly. God, he was too old for this.

“Danny.”

Eliot couldn’t move. His knees were going to go out. There wasn’t enough air in here.

“Danny.”

Parker’s voice was starting to sound far away. 

_ “Eliot.” _

He blinked and turned his head. He saw a small amount of relief wash over Parker’s face, and then confusion and unease on Laurel June’s.

“Sorry,” he whispered, reaching out to steady himself on the wall.

“Are you okay?” Laurel June asked, and Eliot nodded automatically.

His free hand dangled at his side, and after a long moment he felt two tiny hands grab at it and squeeze. He looked down to see Rosalia holding on for dear life and looking pleadingly up at him.

He cleared his throat. “Rosie,” he said hoarsely, and Rosalia took this as invitation to climb into his arms. She buried her face into his shoulder and his arms automatically moved to support her against his hip.

Parker was watching Eliot worriedly. “Let’s go… finish Nemo, I guess,” she suggested, and Eliot started walking towards the bedroom, slowly coming back to life.

“Wait,” Laurel June said. “Who’s Eliot?”

Eliot stopped in his tracks and had a long, silent debate with Parker before turning to his sister. “It’s a long story,” he said. “But you should probably hear it.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> posting schedule? what posting schedule? 
> 
> (anyway this is The House, if you're interested: https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/6026-N-Haight-Ave-Portland-OR-97217/53933848_zpid/ )


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS SOMEWHAT GRAPHIC CHILD ABUSE. if you'd like to skip that part, I've separated the section out with three asterisks ("***") at the top and bottom of the section. you shouldn't be terribly lost if you don't read it. take care of yourselves, yall. 
> 
> warnings in this chapter for: references to unspecified war crimes, ableism, reference to suicide (not explicit), mentions of hypothetical violent behavior towards people and animals, child abandonment, child and parental death, physical and emotional child abuse with resulting injuries, death threats, lots of poetic justice, trauma and trauma responses 
> 
> also: hey im not a lawyer and have never been to family court so please be nice if ive gotten something wrong

_ It's our time to make a move  
_ _ It's our time to make amends  
_ _ It's our time to break the rules  
_ _ Let's begin _

“Renegades”—X Ambassadors

“I expect to have a copy of the ruling on my desk the morning after it is given,” Judge Schneider said, leveling a stern look at Sterling, her turquoise reading glasses barely clinging to the tip of her nose.

Sterling smiled at her. “Of course, Your Honor.”

“You may step down.”

Parker squeezed Eliot’s hand as Sterling left the witness stand. He had explained why Eliot had felt the need to desert the Army in 2004, the fact that Interpol had advised him to, and he informed the judge of the impending court martial hearing that he would be taking care of for Eliot. Of course, he had to do it with the smuggest grin on his face, making Eliot’s blood boil. He was stressed enough; he didn’t need Sterling taunting him in court on top of that.

Rosalia sat with Sophie at the back of the gallery, coloring and playing quiet games to keep her distracted. A third table had been dragged onto the courtroom floor. Eliot, Parker, and Nate sat at one, Marcie, Waylon, and their lawyer at the second, and Laurel June all alone at the third. Laurel June had declined counsel, no matter how often Eliot offered to pay for a lawyer for her. Behind the partition, Seth, Jack, Aunt Lois, and Uncle Mike sat, and every so often when Eliot looked back to check on Rosie he saw his family give him an encouraging smile or thumbs up.

Nate leaned over to whisper in Eliot’s ear. “You didn’t really work with Interpol, right? You’re just trying to save your bacon?”

Eliot shrugged. “I was outta options back then, I had to go to Interpol.”

Nate stared at him incredulously, but soon got his face under control. “I wanna hear the whole thing after we’re done.”

“Mr. Gillespie,” Judge Schneider called, and every Gillespie in the room looked up expectantly. She was looking at Waylon, seated next to Marcie and their lawyer. “Your turn.”

Waylon stood, shot a sly glance at Eliot, then took the witness stand. His lawyer went through the same questions Eliot had been asked, and he rattled off why he thought he and Marcie were the best guardians for Rosie. To his credit, he did seem to really believe what he was saying, but Eliot knew better than to trust him with kids.

“And your son, Daniel, do you believe he would be a good guardian for the minor child?” the lawyer asked.

“No, I do not,” Waylon said.

“And why is that?”

“On top of the  _ war crimes _ hearing,” Waylon began, and Eliot could tell he had something he thought was a huge trick up his sleeve. “I’ve known my son all of his thirty-two years—”

Eliot rolled his eyes. He was thirty-four. Never mind the sixteen years during which they hadn't spoken once. 

“—an’ since he was a boy he’s had  _ serious  _ mental illness,” Waylon continued.

Nate began thumbing through his stack of paperwork and important documents.

“What kind of mental illness?”

“I don’t know what a doctor would call it, but he was a violent kid—attacked me a few times, his brothers, even a horse once—an when he hit high school he started gettin’ gloomy too. I half expected to come home to him dead a couple times,” Waylon said. “I can only imagine it got worse after he left the service.”

“Mr. Gillespie, do you have any proof of this claim? A psychiatric evaluation, medical records, anything to back this up?” Judge Schneider asked Waylon, and Eliot was relieved that she didn’t seem convinced.

Waylon shrugged sadly. “I never got him tested ‘cuz I didn’t want him to get locked up.”

Eliot barely held back a scoff as Nate raised his hand. If Waylon had gotten him tested, even  _ if  _ these accusations had been true, there would have been proof of the abuse he’d suffered at Waylon’s own hands. Eliot’s childhood scars weren’t only physical.

“Mr. Papadokalis?”

“Yes, Your Honor, right here,” Nate said, rising from his seat and carrying a short stack of papers to the judge. “Psychiatric and physical evaluations from within the last year, as well as those undergone before Mr. Gillespie was admitted to the Green Berets.” He looked Waylon in the eye as he said the last part, a smarmy smile on his lips. “You’ll notice, Your Honor, aside from combat injuries, mild hearing loss, and some minor lingering effects of a concussion, Mr. Gillespie has been shown to have a clean bill of physical and mental health.”

Judge Schneider perused the documents, her lips pursed, then looked at Waylon. “I’m not sure what to make of your allegation, Mr. Gillespie, as you have no documentation of the claim, but I will remind you that you are under oath.”

Waylon looked like he was dying to argue, but instead he gritted his teeth and glared at Eliot.

Thank God Hardison had forged those documents so well. If that hadn’t worked…

“Mr. Bergen, you may continue,” the Judge said.

Waylon’s lawyer, looking frustrated, sat down. “No further questions, Your Honor.”

“Mr. Papadokalis?”

“No further questions, either, ah, Your Honor,” Nate said. God, his Jimmy voice grated at Eliot’s ears.

“Please step down, Mr. Gillespie.”

Laurel June was next.

“Mrs. Classen, please explain why you believe you would be the ideal guardian for Rosalia.”

Laurel June looked exhausted. She fidgeted uncomfortably in her seat, the dark circles under her eyes making her look haunted. She fiddled with her wedding ring, twisting it back and forth on her finger.

“Well, Rosie’s only ever known Spencer, I don’t know that she’s ever left the OKC area,” Laurel June said. “An’ all her family’s here—uh, ‘cept for Danny, I guess, an’ her parents.” Her expression clouded over as she seemed to realize what she had just said, but she recovered after a moment and sat up straighter. “All’s I know is I have time for her, an’ love, an’ it won’t mean taking her from her family or school.”

Nate cleared his throat. “Thank you, Mrs. Classen,” he said. “Is it alright if I ask you about your brother, Danny?”

Laurel June shifted in her seat. “Yes.”

“Do you believe Danny would be a good guardian for Rosalia?”

“Yes.”

“You mentioned not wanting Rosalia to have to leave her school or her family. Are these the only objections you have to Danny taking Rosalia to Portland with him?”

Laurel June opened and closed her mouth, then cleared her throat. “Yes, I guess so. I just think it's better to not uproot her.”

“And your parents? Do you think they would be good guardians for Rosalia?”

Eliot stiffened. Nate should know better than to ask that. Laurel June saying that she thought Marcie and Waylon were good guardians would be lying, but saying no would put her in serious hot water with them. Eliot wasn’t sure what was worse: a perjury charge or being in trouble with your abusive parents.

Laurel June looked like the same war was playing out in her own head. “I-I don’t know, sir,” she stuttered, looking down.

Nate softened. “Thank you, Mrs. Classen. No further questions, Your Honor.”

Judge Schneider pursed her lips as Laurel June left the stand, trembling as she went. Judge Schneider consulted her notes.

“Have any efforts been made to identify and contact Miss Baker’s biological mother, or other biological relatives from her mother’s side?” she asked.

Nate, about to sit down, shot straight up. “Yes, Your Honor,” he said. “Mr. Gillespie hired a private investigator.”

Across the room, Laurel June looked up, her brow furrowed in concern.

“This investigator found one Danae Baker in California, of the correct age, race, and physical description as given by Seth Gillespie, who knew her when she and Chase Gillespie were together, before the child was born,” Nate explained.

_ “Found her so quick it’s a wonder no one else ever tracked her down,”  _ Hardison said over the comms, and Eliot winced, having forgotten that the comms were on and Hardison was listening from their hotel room.

“And?” the Judge asked.

“I spoke to her on the phone,” Nate said. “I, ah, informed her of Mr. Chase Gillespie’s death and the custody hearings for her biological daughter. She told me in no uncertain terms that she had moved on from ‘that part of her life’ and would not be part of these custody proceedings.”

The slowly simmering anger in Eliot’s stomach flared anew as he remembered listening in on that conversation, the five of them huddled around Nate with his phone on speaker. He had very nearly grabbed the phone to yell at Danae for abandoning her daughter, but he had instead left the living room above the brew pub and paced the long hallway a few times.

“I see,” said Judge Schneider, looking vaguely troubled. “Mr. Papadokalis, do you have anyone else you’d like to speak to?”

“Yes, Your Honor,” Nate said. “I’d like to call Ella Richards.”

Sophie, posing as a social worker, took the stand, handing off Rosie to Aunt Lois. Eliot watched, mortified, as Nate tried to keep from making eyes at his wife. He cleared his throat and got back into character.

“Miss Richards,” he said. “You are the social worker assigned to Rosalia Baker, correct?”

Sophie nodded. “I am, yes.”

“In your professional opinion, what are Rosalia’s needs in a potential home and guardian?”

“Well,” Sophie began, her easy charm taking the form of shyness and a gentle nature this time. “Rosalia requires not only basic care—food, water, shelter, clothing, medical care—but individualized support. She was diagnosed this past week with autism, and was additionally identified as being gifted.”

“Miss Richards, what is giftedness?”

“There’s no accepted definition,” Sophie hedged, “but generally the term refers to children who have an IQ of above 130 or who have met academic milestones significantly ahead of their same-age peers.”

“How does Rosalia meet these criteria?” Nate asked.

“Rosalia was IQ tested, though the results are not back yet, but the identification came due to her academic achievement. Though she is not yet six years old, she is reading books intended for third graders or higher. The majority of her same-age peers are still learning letter sounds and reading short words with assistance. Rosalia has what developmental psychologists call ‘hyperlexia’ which is reading ability well ahead of same-age peers.”

“So Rosalia will do well in school,” Nate guessed.

“Not inherently,” Sophie said. “She has also been diagnosed with autism, which is frequently associated with difficulty in standard classroom settings without supports. Additionally, the evaluation uncovered psychological trauma as a result of abuse and neglect she faced from her birth father and from being at home during her father’s death. Children with psychological trauma frequently need more individualized attention in school in order to succeed.”

“In other words, Miss Richards?”

“Rosalia will require school supports that I don’t believe Spencer schools are fully equipped to provide,” she said. “Rosalia is what educational psychologists call ‘twice exceptional,’ meaning she has both disabilities and gifts. Twice exceptional students typically require both increased support and increased challenge in school at a highly individualized level, to a degree that Spencer schools will not be able to accommodate.”

“Thank you, Miss Richards,” Nate said, a soft smile on his lips. “And what do you believe Rosalia needs in the home?”

Sophie took a deep breath before answering. “Rosalia needs a loving guardian and stability. Her whole life has been plagued by instability and danger. She needs guardians who will..." Sophie seemed to search for the right words, "prioritize her needs and advocate for her in school and in life. And,” she said, acting like she was steeling herself for the reaction, “she needs a degree of distance from the places where she was abused and the people who hurt her.”

Waylon shot to his feet and banged his fists on the table. “Danny met Rosalia  _ three weeks ago,  _ Your Honor, there’s no fucking way he knows what he’s gettin’ into!” he hollered.

“Mr. Bergen!” Judge Schneider said sharply. “Control your client or I’ll have him removed from my courtroom.”

Waylon, fuming, sat as his lawyer beckoned to him and whispered in his ear, his finger tapping angrily on the table in front of them like he wished it was Waylon's chest.

“Uh, Your Honor,” Nate interjected. “There is substantial precedent for placing a child with a relative mostly or even entirely unknown to the child, and Miss Baker has consistently stated her desire to reside with my client.”

“Yes, Mr. Papadokalis,” Judge Schneider said tiredly. “As you’ve pointed out. You may continue.”

“Thank you, Your Honor. Sorry about that, Miss Richards. Do you believe any of the petitioners here would be adequate guardians for Rosalia?”

“Yes, sir,” Sophie said. “I believe Erin Newell and Daniel Gillespie would be the best fit.”

“Why?”

“Well, both are teachers, and Miss Newell is a special education teacher. This indicates to me that Rosalia’s educational needs will be prioritized, and both will be able to provide at-home opportunities for growth and remediation, as necessary. I also believe that removing Rosalia from Spencer is advisable due to the number of places in town associated with traumatic events.”

“No further questions, Your Honor.”

Waylon and Marcie’s lawyer took a spin questioning Sophie, and she smoothly derailed his attempts to weasel an admission that they would be okay guardians. Waylon grew more and more furious the longer this went on. Finally, as Sophie stepped down, Waylon stood and cleared his throat.

“Your Honor, may I speak?”

Judge Schneider looked down her nose at him suspiciously. “Any funny business and I’ll have you removed, Mr. Gillespie, but go on.”

“I truly believe that my son is the worst possible guardian in this room,” he said, clearly making a huge effort to be polite. “His violent tendencies speak for themselves.”

“The violent tendencies you’ve failed to support with any evidence?” Judge Schneider asked drily.

“It just ain’t fair to take Rosie from the only family she’s ever known,” Waylon said.

“Your Honor, if I may?” Nate asked, starting to rise from his chair.

“Mr. Papadokalis, you’ve already questioned Mr. Gillespie.”

“I have, yes, but I’ve just remembered a line of questioning I was going to ask,” Nate said, shrugging self-deprecatingly.

The judge looked annoyed. “Fine. Mr. Gillespie, step up, please.”

As Waylon settled in, scowling, Nate paced in front of him. “Mr. Gillespie, how many children do you have?”

“I had five,” Waylon said. “Just three now.”

“What happened to the fifth? We know your son Chase died recently, or we wouldn’t be here,” Nate said with a little bit of a smirk. If Eliot hadn’t known he was putting on an act, he would have hit him.

“My eldest daughter, Meg, died seven years ago,” Waylon said, steadily growing more and more frustrated.

“I’m very sorry to hear that. So you had five children—how many grandchildren do you have?”

“Three. Rosie, and Meg’s two kids,” Waylon said, confused at the line of questioning.

“I’ve heard that Meg’s husband doesn’t allow you or your wife to see their children, is that correct?”

“There’s nothing legally keepin’ us from seein’ the kids—”

“Legally, no, but otherwise?” Nate interrupted, and Waylon’s face grew redder.

He gritted his teeth. “No. Jack don’t let us see the kids.”

“Why is that?” Nate asked, an eyebrow raised cockily like he had something good up his sleeve.

“He never liked us,” Waylon said. “Thought we were just backwater idiots.”

“Your Honor, it’s not a formal accusation, but my client alleges constant abuse at the hands of his father, Mr. Gillespie, affecting all five siblings,” Nate said. “I can’t say conclusively that Mr. Gillespie would abuse the child if she were placed in her care, of course, but the allegation warrants caution against placing the child with Mr. and Mrs. Gillespie.”

“Do you have any evidence for this?” the judged asked tiredly.

“As a matter of fact, Your Honor, I do,” Nate said, doubling back to their table and pulling a VHS tape from his briefcase. He held it up and grinned at Waylon.

“I don’t accept showboating in my courtroom, Mr. Papadokalis,” Judge Schneider warned.

“Apologies, Your Honor. But, ah, Miss Baker probably shouldn’t see this,” Nate said.

“Miss Richards, if you would,” the judge said, gesturing for Sophie to take Rosie out of the room. “Mr. Bergen, I trust you were able to view this video ahead of time?”

“Yes, Your Honor,” Bergen said through his teeth.

Waylon looked furious and glared at Eliot, who gritted his teeth and tried to maintain composure. This tape would put him in hot water.

Rosalia and Sophie left the room as an old television with a VCR was wheeled into the courtroom, and Nate and a bailiff spent a moment fumbling with it before the tape started playing.

“This tape is labeled ‘Christmas, 1994,’” Nate said.

The video opened with a cluster of five kids sitting on the floor, a Christmas tree in the background and wrapped presents strewn around the tree.

Eliot squirmed in his chair, remembering in vivid detail this Christmas. There was Meg, 16 years old, and himself, 14. Eliot’s breath caught in his throat when he saw Meg. It had been a while since he’d seen her face in pictures, and this was how he remembered her best: remnants of her experiments with makeup not quite gone, watching over her siblings like they were her own children. Seth would have been 13, and there he was looking not too different from how he looked now, just smaller, still exhausted-looking and skinny. And there was Laurel June, maybe five years old, and little Chase, only three. Laurel June and Chase were wiggling with excitement, their fingers itching to tear open the stockings held in each of their laps. Waylon, looking as pleasant as he ever did, sat off to the side in his armchair, watching the camera. 

***

_ “Okay, okay,”  _ Marcie said behind the camera, and the camera shifted and was set on a table.  _ “Go ahead.” _

The kids eagerly dug into their stockings as Marcie came around to the front of the camera and sat on the arm of Waylon’s chair, leaning into him like she always did, and Eliot felt sick. He’d seen that pose too many times.

Marcie leaned over and kissed Waylon, and Laurel June laughingly cried,  _ “Eww!” _

Waylon’s face, however, darkened, and he kicked Laurel June hard, catching her shoulder with his heavy boot and sending her toppling over hard, too fast for her to catch herself.

_ “Shut the fuck up,” _ he spat.

She cried out, and Eliot, sitting in the courtroom, had to remind himself that she hadn’t been hurt. His heart hammered in his chest.

Meg shot to her feet.  _ “Stop!” _ she cried, but shrank back when Waylon turned his glare on her.

Eliot—Danny—stood to back her up. Meg may have been two years older, but Danny was bigger.  _ “Cut it out, Dad, she’s just a kid!” _ he hollered, and Eliot remembered how hard his heart had been hammering in his chest as he stood up to his father.

Waylon looked shocked, but the expression sank into anger quickly and he slowly got to his feet. Marcie settled into the chair in his place and slowly sipped her coffee, seemingly unaffected by the horror show unfolding in front of her.

_ “What was that, boy?”  _ Waylon asked, his voice low, dangerous.

Danny swallowed.  _ “You hurt her. Y-you can’t do that.” _

Chase and Laurel June both began crying, and Chase crawled to cower behind Seth.

_ “You think you’re the boss of me?”  _ Waylon asked, and when Danny didn’t answer he stepped closer.  _ “Let’s get one thing straight, boy. I brought you into this world, and I can damn well take you outta it if I want to.” _

Danny’s eyes widened. This had been the first, but not the last time Waylon had threatened to kill him. He looked scared for a moment, then drew himself up to his full height again.

_ “I don’t care. Hurt me if you gotta hurt someone, but leave Laurel June out of it,” _ he said, his voice only faltering a little bit.

Waylon’s eyes narrowed as he considered his son, and they could see the wheels turning in his head as he cooked up a punishment.

This was the worst Waylon they’d known. Regular Waylon, the grumpy bastard who sniped at everyone except his wife, was easy to deal with. Angry Waylon was scary, and he had hit each of them many times, but he was predictable. Happy Waylon hadn’t been around much, and he was unsettling, but harmless. But this Waylon, the quiet, fuming Waylon, was unpredictable and dangerous.

Waylon pointed at Danny slowly.  _ “My room.” _ He turned the finger towards Meg, then Seth, Laurel June, and finally Chase.  _ “All of you, one at a time.” _ He pointed at Danny again.  _ “You twice. Go.” _

Danny gulped and steeled himself, then, keeping his chin up, he walked out of the room. Waylon watched him go, then followed, already unbuckling his belt.

Meg and Seth, old enough to fully realize what was happening, steeled themselves. Seth picked Chase up and held him close. Marcie just sipped her coffee and picked up a newspaper.

They heard the sharp crack of a belt from another room and Danny cried out. Everyone, except Marcie, flinched. Meg shushed Laurel June as her sobs got louder. The belt snapped again, and again. Finally, after what felt like an hour and several thousand blows later, the sound stopped.

Danny, limping lightly and struggling to keep his composure, returned to the living room. His eye was already swelling shut.

_ “Meg!”  _ Waylon hollered from the other room, and Meg swallowed hard. Danny only briefly looked up at her, but grabbed her arm and squeezed lightly before letting go.

Meg held her head high and walked out of the living room. Just as with Danny, there was a pause after a door closed, and then the snap of a belt over and over.

Laurel June edged over to where Danny sagged against the wall and wrapped her arms around one of Danny’s legs, pressing her face into his hip, and Eliot, sitting in the courtroom, remembered the night he’d met Rosie and she’d done the exact same thing. Danny hissed in pain and gently pried Laurel June off.

When Meg was done and came back into the living room, she tugged her sleeves down as far over her hands as she could and folded her arms tight around herself. She blinked back tears and stood apart from everyone else.

_ “Danny!”  _ Waylon shouted, and Danny closed his eyes tight for a long second.

Then, looking like a man walking to the gallows, he left the room, and Eliot remembered that exact feeling, his heart pounding out of his chest, dread deep in his bones, wanting desperately to disappear or the house to be swallowed up by a sinkhole, but even worse, at his very core, he was completely resigned to this fate, because he was a problem kid who needed to be kept in line however necessary.

Parker, her hand squeezing Eliot’s hard, flinched with every crack of the belt, and when Waylon started in on Danny again, she hunched forward, her eyes squeezed shut. 

The blows stopped, and Danny returned, his limp worse and one arm held tight to his side. He’d never gone to the doctor for it, but Eliot now suspected, with his years of experience receiving and causing injuries, that he’d broken a rib.

_ “Seth!” _

As Seth put Chase down and shuffled out of the room, Marcie looked up from her paper and directly at the camera.

_ “Shoot,”  _ she said mildly, and got up. She reached toward the camera and the video cut to black. 

***

A moment later, another scene filled the screen. The Gillespie children sat around the dining room table, dressed up in their Christmas clothes, a feast spread out in front of them, but there was something off about each kid. A swoop of hair almost covered Danny’s black eye. A patch of thick makeup peeked out of Meg’s collar, its edges not quite covering a bruise underneath. Seth sat hunched over, his chin on his chest and face completely blocked by his hair and the camera angle. The sleeves of Laurel June’s new sweater were stretched down over her hands and she held onto the cuffs with clenched fists, and when Danny elbowed her lightly and pointed to the camera, she flinched and rubbed at her arm. Even little Chase hadn’t escaped unscathed; a red mark on his forehead in the shape of a crescent moon peeked out from under his hair.

_ “Say Merry Christmas!”  _ Marcie instructed from behind the camera. Waylon was conspicuously absent.

_ “Merry Christmas,”  _ all five kids parroted. Laurel June managed to sound the most enthusiastic, while Seth barely mumbled.

Nate turned off the tape. There was silence in the courtroom as everyone processed what they had seen.

“Thank you, Mr. Papadokalis,” Judge Schneider said, breaking the silence. “Do you have any further arguments or evidence?”

“No, Your Honor,” Nate said.

“Mr. Bergen?”

Waylon’s lawyer sighed. “No, Your Honor.”

“Mrs. Classen?”

Laurel June jumped at the sound of her name. She was pale. “N-no, ma’am,” she said. “That’s all.”

“We’ll take an hour recess,” Judge Schneider said. 

* * *

As Eliot and Parker left the courtroom, Eliot looked around. He found who he was looking for quickly, and strode over to check on Rosie, leaving Parker and Nate trailing behind him.

“Hey,” Sophie said softly, dropping her Midwestern accent. “You okay?”

Eliot shrugged, not quite able to be emotionally vulnerable right now. He had an hour to get himself together before the judge delivered her decision.

Rosie, who had been engrossed in a book, looked up, saw Eliot, and got to her feet. She held up her hands silently and he lifted her to his hip.

“I’m bored,” she said. “Let’s go to the zoo.”

“We just went a couple of weeks ago,” Eliot said, his anxious brain-fog giving way to his paternal instincts. “And we have to go back to court in a little bit.”

Parker appeared at his elbow. “Lunch,” she said. “There’s a Thai place nearby.”

“I can’t go with you,” Sophie said. “Rosie either.”

“I know,” Eliot said. “We’ll see you in a bit for the decision.”

In a little less than an hour, his life would change. Either he got custody and would rearrange his life around this little girl, his pregnant sister and her (hopefully incarcerated) husband would get custody and he would rearrange his life around making sure everyone except Hunter were all okay, or his abusive father and stepmother would get custody and he would rearrange his life around getting her out of there. In any case, his life would be rearranged, jobs taking a backseat to providing for his family.

Eliot sighed, kissed Rosie on the cheek, and set her down. “You stay here with Miss Richards, okay? We’ll be back soon.”

Rosie flapped her hands and spun on her heel to go back to her book.

Sophie squeezed his arm briefly. “I think you did very well,” she said reassuringly. “I was watching the judge—she looked convinced.”

“Thanks,” Eliot muttered, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I can’t—listen, we’ll see you in a bit.”

Parker pulled Eliot away gently and led him toward the lobby.

“You don’t look good,” she said. “Video make you badbrains?”

“The whole day is making me badbrains,” Eliot said, borrowing her word.

Parker hummed in agreement as they rounded a corner. Waylon and Marcie looked up from where they sat on a bench, having a quiet argument, and Waylon’s face darkened. He stood and Marcie followed suit.

Parker put her head down and tried to barge right past them, but Eliot stopped in his tracks automatically. Marcie patted her husband’s arm and left, sauntering down the hall.

“Danny,” Waylon said after a moment, his voice carefully even but his eyes murderous. “Can I talk to you in private?”

Eliot nudged Parker. “I’ll catch up with you,” he said without looking at her.

She shook her head, her eyes wide with quiet panic. “I’m not leaving.”

He nudged her a little harder. “I’m fine, go on.”

Parker reluctantly left, and out of the corner of his eye he saw her go back the way they had come.

Waylon crossed his arms over his chest, brow furrowed like he was trying to work out a difficult math problem and getting frustrated at it. “I just don’t get it.”

“What are you talkin’ about?”

“I don’t get why you would show that tape,” Waylon snapped, the dam breaking. “You don’t have any business bringin’ up somethin’ that happened that long ago.”

“I do, Waylon,” Eliot said, “I do, and it’s something called ‘establishing a pattern of behavior.’ I ain’t lettin’ my niece have the same kinda childhood I had.”

“What kinda childhood is that?” Waylon asked mockingly. “Your childhood was spoiled an’ cushy. My father tanned my hide if I so much as said one word outta line.  _ I  _ was lenient with you five, an’ your  _ mother—” _

“Don’t you talk about Mom,” Eliot warned, stepping close and dropping his voice. “Don’t you  _ dare  _ talk about Mom.”

Waylon huffed angrily and stared at Eliot for a long second. “I thought families were s’posed to stay together,” he said.

Eliot took a step towards his father so they were almost chest to chest. They were nearly the same height, but Eliot nevertheless saw unease in his father’s eyes at his expression.

“Families do stick together, but that ain’t what you got here,” he said slowly, anger surging through his veins and making him feel powerful. “You stopped bein’ my family the  _ second  _ you laid a hand on my mother or any of us kids. You’re  _ nothing  _ to me.”

Waylon seethed and Eliot took a step back. “Statute of limitations is up for the shit on the tape,” he said as he turned and walked away. “You won’t get in trouble for that.”

At the sight of his back, Waylon snarled, “Don’t you walk away from me, boy!”

Eliot turned and walked backwards as he spoke. “You’re done, Waylon,” he said simply. “Give it up.”

He turned back around and walked to go find Parker, his heart pounding and head swimming. As he rounded the corner and was out of Waylon’s line of sight, he slumped back against the wall and took a deep, shaking breath.

Parker was at his side immediately, followed shortly by Nate. “I heard everything, are you good?” Parker asked at the same time as Nate said, “Nicely done.”

Eliot took another deep breath, but when he tried to hold it in, a laugh escaped him. And then another laugh, high and delirious, and he stifled it. “Christ,” he choked out. There were tears in his eyes and he didn’t know whether they were happy or anxious tears. He swiped at his eyes and another giggle escaped him.

God, saying all that to his father felt good.

Parker looked at Nate. “Is he losing it?”

“Could be,” Nate said.

Eliot’s delirium abruptly snapped when Waylon rounded the corner. He walked past Eliot, Parker, and Nate without a word or glance in their direction, and made a beeline for Rosalia and Sophie.

Eliot shoved off the wall as Waylon bent down to Rosie’s height, a smile plastered on his face. Rosie looked cornered, though Sophie stood next to her with a protective arm around her shoulders. Eliot couldn’t hear what they were saying, but before Eliot could reach them, Rosie lifted her hand and calmly smacked Waylon across the face, hard.

Waylon roared in anger and Sophie dragged Rosie back away from him. Waylon took a menacing step towards Rosie, but Eliot stepped between them before he could go any further.

“Don’t you dare,” Eliot said quietly.

“Out of my way,” Waylon snarled.

“So you can hit another little kid?” Eliot asked.

“You want me to hit you instead?”

Eliot laughed. “Just try to land something on me.”

Waylon pulled his fist back, and Eliot saw this happening over and over again in his mind’s eye, all the times his father had hit him in his childhood, but there was one thing Eliot could do now that he had never been able to before.

Eliot caught the punch in one hand. Waylon looked stunned.

“Drop your case,” Eliot said quietly, holding Waylon’s fist in a vice grip.

Waylon yanked his arm back and took a step backwards. “Fuck you,” he seethed. He turned on his heel, joined Marcie, and they rounded a corner towards the lobby.

Eliot glared after him for a long moment, then got his head on straight and turned to find Rosie. He gave her a wide smile. “You done good, punkin.”

* * *

There was a thick, tense silence in the courtroom after everyone took their seats again.

Eliot locked eyes with Sophie behind them, then Seth, Lois, Mike, and Jack nearby, and finally Parker next to him. Each nodded or smiled in support, except for Parker, who looked as nervous as Eliot felt.

_ “Y’all got this,”  _ Hardison said over the comms.  _ “I love you. We’re family no matter what happens in that courtroom.” _

Judge Schneider cleared her throat and rested her elbows on the bench. 

“This was a difficult case to decide,” she said, and the knots in Eliot’s stomach tightened painfully. “Three interested parties, all fighting for the right to raise a twice exceptional child. We have a kind but unemployed young woman whose husband was recently jailed on abuse charges, an Army deserter who lives two thousand miles away but would be an ideal guardian otherwise, and two retirees who are patriarch and matriarch of the child’s family who have historically mistreated their own children. Each potential guardian has weaknesses and strengths. However, I must rule to ensure not only Miss Baker’s safety and wellbeing, but to ensure she has good opportunities in the future. For these reasons I am awarding full custody of Rosalia Baker to Daniel Gillespie and Erin Newell.”

The world went silent and still for a long moment, like time stopped to let Eliot process what the judge had just said.

He did it. 

He got Rosie.

Time restarted and the world snapped back to sound and movement and Hardison whooped over the comms. Eliot’s breath whooshed out of him all at once and it took a couple of seconds to be able to breathe again.

“Thank you, Your Honor,” he said when he could breathe.

“However, Mr. Gillespie,” Judge Schneider cautioned, “you will not be allowed to pursue a formal adoption, should you so choose, until your matters with the Army and Interpol are settled.”

Eliot nodded. “Of course, Your Honor.” He felt like he was floating. 

“I wish you the best,” Judge Schneider said with a smile. “Court is adjourned.”

Eliot’s face hurt and he realized he was smiling wider than he could remember ever smiling. He turned and grabbed Parker up in a hug, and she hugged back for a moment before tapping his shoulder as a reminder that she didn’t like sudden hugs. He pulled back and Nate grabbed him in a hug instead.

“You deserve this,” Nate whispered. “I’m proud of you.”

Eliot ignored the tears in his eyes. “Thanks,” he whispered back, his voice strangled.

He turned again and saw Sophie behind him, close to tears with her hands clasped together in happiness.

And Rosie, right there in front of Sophie, her hands on the bannister separating the gallery from the floor, jumping excitedly. She held up her hands towards Eliot and he reached for her, swinging her over the barrier and into his arms, holding on for dear life.

He’d done it. They’d done it.

Eliot felt arms around both of them and smelled Parker’s shampoo.

“You wanna come live with us?” Eliot asked quietly.

“Yes, please,” Rosie whispered without moving a muscle.

He heard yelling and it was a long second before he could pay attention to it. He passed Rosie to Parker, who hugged her tight, and turned to face the courtroom.

Waylon was cursing loudly, and he slammed his fists on the table in front of him. Without looking at anyone, he stormed out of the court. Marcie, looking terse and unhappy, collected her purse and jacket and, without a word to their lawyer, stepped away from the table. She made a beeline to Eliot.

“The next time you’re in town, don’t bother coming to visit,” she said, her face devoid of even the fakest smile she plastered on when she was unhappy.

“Fine by us,” Eliot responded coolly. “You take care, Marce.”

Marcie harrumphed and left. 

Laurel June made her way over next, and Nate excused himself, shoving his papers and files in his briefcase haphazardly and striding from the room.

“Congratulations,” Laurel June said, her smile sad, but genuine. “You probably can handle it more than I can right now.”

Eliot hugged her. “You ever need  _ anything, _ you call me.”

Seth joined them. “Knew you had it in you,” he said with a grin.

“I’m gonna find a way to get both of you out to Portland for Christmases an’ maybe Easter,” Eliot said.

Laurel June smiled, and this time there was little sadness in it. “I think I’ll be too far to fly this Christmas,” she said, pointing at her belly.

“Then as soon as the baby’s born and you’re good to fly again,” Eliot said. “Hell, we could probably come visit  _ you _ when the baby’s born.”

Seth grinned. “Sounds great.” He pulled his phone from his pocket and squinted at it. “Oh, I gotta go call Alex and let him know how it went.”

“Yeah, go. Lunch tomorrow with everyone, or maybe dinner?” Eliot asked.

“I’m there.”

Seth waved and put his phone to his ear as he left.

Laurel June looked around. “I really am happy for you, Dan—uh, Eliot. Sorry. I’m just sad my life fell apart so fast an’ it meant I couldn’t be there for Rosie.”

Eliot remembered he hadn’t really done much for Laurel June besides send her abusive—but breadwinning—husband to jail. He made a mental note to talk to Hardison when she was gone.

Eliot gave her a gentle smile. “You’ll land on your feet. I promise.” His smile dropped from his face as he remembered their parents’ reactions. “Maybe, uh, avoid Marcie an’ Waylon for a few days.”

Laurel June sighed. “I’d like to avoid them for longer than that.”

An idea sparked in Eliot’s mind.

“Eliot,” Laurel June said, edging closer and dropping her voice. “I think I’m gonna divorce Hunter.”

A slow smile spread across Eliot’s face. “I’m proud of you, Laurel June. That’s a big step.”

“Do you think Mr. Papadokalis does divorces?” Laurel June asked, and Eliot coughed in surprise.

“I, uh, very much doubt it,” he said, his voice suddenly hoarse.

* * *

Parker protested as Hardison swiped a fry off of her plate, and Rosie laughed.

“What kinda schools are you lookin’ at in Portland?” Laurel June asked. She already looked much better than she had the day before at the hearing. It was like knowing Rosie would be safe and provided for and voicing her plan to divorce her husband had lifted two-ton weights from her shoulders. She looked like she’d gotten a good night’s sleep, too, and Eliot felt no small amount of relief to see her doing better.

Eliot wiped his mouth. “Just a local public elementary,” he said. “It’s got good scores an’ mainstreams its disabled kids.”

Laurel June looked unsure. “Is that a good idea?” she asked, furtively glancing at Rosie fidgeting with her plastic necklace.

“Yes,” Parker said, a little more forcefully than necessary.

“Alright, alright,” Laurel June said, putting her hands up in surrender. “In the trial you just kept hammering home that Rosie needed extra support in school.”

“And she’ll get it,” Eliot said. “Don’t you worry. The three of us ain’t teachers for nothin’.”

“Uh-huh,” Laurel June said. She made air quotes with her fingers. “’Teachers.’”

“Whoa, whoa,” Seth said, coming into the conversation. “What’s all this ‘teachers’,” he mimicked Laurel June’s air quotes, “stuff? You’re not teachers?”

“Thanks, Laurel June,” Eliot said irritably. He turned to Seth. “I’ll tell you after dinner.”

“What’s the plan, anyway?” Seth asked.

“Dinner,” Eliot said. “Then I got a surprise. Then ice cream. Then board games at our hotel.”

“Aw, nice,” Seth said, popping the last bite of his onion ring in his mouth. “Love ice cream.”

“You’re a child,” Laurel June said.

“I know what I’m about an’ there’s nothing wrong with that.”

A few minutes later, when talk had turned to more serious topics, Seth nudged Laurel June. “So what’s  _ your  _ plan now?”

Laurel June blushed. “I—I don’t know, really.”

“I got an idea,” Eliot said.

Laurel June scowled. “I know you want me to move to Portland, but there’s no way I can afford that, an’ I’m not taking rent money from you.”

“Nah, nah, a different idea,” Eliot said. “You live wherever you want, I just got an idea of what you can do with your time.” He gestured to a woman sitting across the diner, and she stood from her own booth and made her way to their table.

“What—” Laurel June started to ask, turning in her chair to see what was going on, but when she saw the woman walking towards them, she let out a quiet shriek and covered her mouth. She turned back to face Eliot, her eyes wide. “You didn’t,” she seethed through her fingers. 

“I just called up an old friend,” he said defensively, getting to his feet. “Lina,” he said warmly, hugging the tall woman.

“So good to see you, Eliot,” Lina said, her Welsh accent surprising Seth.

“You too. So these are my partners, Parker an’ Alec Hardison,” he said, gesturing. “My brother Seth. My niece, Rosie. An’ my sister I was tellin’ you about, Laurel June. Everyone, this is Lina Heller.”

Laurel June still had her hand over her mouth, and she let out a giddy laugh.

“What am I missing?” Seth asked.

“Lina is Laurel June’s favorite photographer,” Eliot said. “Lina, which project of yours was on the cover of TIME? The sand one?”

Lina laughed. “It was the fruit one,” she said. “It’s nice to meet you, Laurel June.”

“Y-you too,” Laurel June stuttered, finally putting her hand down. “What—um, what are you doing here? N-not that I’m upset you’re here, I—” She clamped her mouth shut and shook her head. “Sorry, I’m just a huge fan of your work.”

“So Eliot tells me,” Lina said with a wild smile. “I’m here because, well, I’m in need of an assistant at my Portland office, and your brother sent over some of your photos. I’m impressed at the caliber of your work, and your potential.”

Laurel June turned to Eliot, looking equal parts furious and thankful. “What photos?”

Eliot grinned mischievously. “Parker broke into your house and took your camera. I told her to.”

“Unbelievable,” Laurel June said, laughing.

“Would you be interested?” Lina asked. “There would be opportunities to work on your own portfolio, and I would cover your travel expenses to come to New York and London every so often.”

Laurel June blinked. “I—I don’t know what to say,” she stammered. “Thank you for the opportunity. I, uh, I don’t know.”

Lina nodded, her kind smile not leaving her face. “Take the weekend, think it over. Here’s my card and personal number,” she said, handing over two pieces of paper. She smiled wider. “I hope you’ll say yes.”

“Thank you,” Laurel June repeated, still too stunned to do much more than be starstruck.

“I’ll let you all get back to your meal,” Lina said. “Eliot, let me know the next time you’re in New York.”

“How do you know Eliot?” Seth asked.

Lina laughed. “A few years ago, one of my SD cards was stolen by a rival. I hired Eliot to… retrieve it.”

Seth looked impressed. “Cool.”

“Aw, it was an easy job,” Eliot said. “The guy hired Ukrainians to steal the card.”

Laurel June and Seth stared blankly at him.

Hardison leaned over. “Ukrainians are the Hydrox of mobsters.”

“In any case,” Lina said, “Eliot found the card, my rival was arrested, and those photos won me a Sony World Photography Award.”

“Wow,” Seth said.

“Oh no,” Lina said, looking embarrassed. “I’m sorry, I said I would go and instead I’m bragging. I really am leaving this time.”

She said her goodbyes quickly and left. Laurel June watched her go as Seth exclaimed quietly over the interaction, and as Lina got back to her booth, Laurel June pushed back her chair and darted over. She was out of earshot, but they watched as she spoke, blushing bright red, to Lina. Lina listened, and before long a wide smile broke out over her face. A minute later Laurel June tripped back to the table, grinning.

She slipped back into her chair and took a long drink of water as everyone at the table waited to hear what she said to Lina.

“I took the job,” she finally said, and the table erupted in exclamations.

Eliot felt no small amount of relief. Laurel June would be nearby, divorced, and able to pursue her dreams. Seth was doing well, too—employed in a gig he enjoyed, dating someone, and free of their parents. Eliot didn’t have to worry about them as much.

Laurel June fixed him with the kind of smile only little sisters can give, the kind that meant the next few moments would be hell.

“I’m gonna kill you,” she threatened pleasantly. 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings in this chapter for: mild trauma responses, reference to parental death, references to past child abuse

_ You come home from work, and you kiss me on the eye _ _   
_ _ You curse the dogs, you say that I should never feed them what is ours _ _   
_ _ So we move out to the garden, look at everything we've grown _ _   
_ _ Now the kids are coming home so I'll set the table; you can make the fire _

“The Gambler”—fun.

Eliot saw Beate bouncing on her front paws through the window next to the door as they pulled up to his little country house. He glanced in the rearview mirror at Rosie in her car seat and saw her craning her neck to see out the window. Her hands alternately rubbed the top of her koala’s head and plucked at its fabric.

“Alright, punkin,” Eliot said. “We’re here, an’ my big dog wants to meet you.”

“Some dogs are smarter than two-year-olds,” Rosie said, the fact and the way her face lit up telling Eliot that she wanted to meet Beate too.

“Some dogs are smarter than grownups,” Eliot joked.

Rosie laughed.

The front door of the house opened and Cody, Eliot’s farmhand and protégé, stepped out. Eliot turned off the car and got out.

“Hey!” Cody called. “How was the trip?”

Eliot grinned. “It went well,” he said, pointing his thumb over his shoulder at the backseat of his truck. Cody followed the gesture and saw Rosie through the window.

“Hell yeah, congrats, man,” Cody said, waving at Rosie, who ducked behind her koala.

“She’s shy,” Eliot said.

He opened the door and helped Rosie out of her car seat, then down from the tall pickup. Rosie furtively glanced at Cody from behind her koala.

“Rosalia, this is Cody, he works for me,” Eliot said gently.

“Hi, Rosalia,” Cody said, stooping down and waving from a respectable distance. “Nice to meet you. That’s a nice koala you got there.”

Rosie nodded behind the plush.

“You wanna meet the dog?” Eliot asked, and Rosie nodded harder.

Eliot whistled and Beate, waiting for permission in the open door, darted out to Eliot. She bounced around at his feet for a moment until she noticed the new person there and remembered her manners. She sat patiently, looking between Eliot and Rosie, though her long tail swept side to side wildly.

Rosie took a tentative half step toward Beate, whose tail wagged even harder.

“Rosie, this is Beate,” Eliot said. “Beate, this is Rosie.”

Rosie giggled and held out her hand towards Beate, who took the invitation and edged forward carefully until she could rub her big head against Rosie’s hand. She licked a big stripe down Rosie’s palm and the girl shrieked with laughter.

“Parker and Hardison coming over?” Cody asked as they watched Beate try—and succeed—to solicit more and more attention and snuggles from Rosie.

“In a bit, yeah, they wanted to go drop off their stuff and run a coupla errands,” Eliot said. “Can you stick around for a few minutes?”

Cody looked nervous. “I, uh, yeah, I think so?”

“You’re not in trouble,” Eliot assured him.

“Oh whew,” Cody said.

They got the bags, the dog, and the kid inside the house, and Eliot called Cody out to the back porch after telling Beate to show Rosie around.

“How’re things goin’ with your folks?” Eliot asked.

Cody snorted derisively. “Not great. I’m stayin’ with my uncle right now.”

“An’ you turn 18 next week?”

“You remember my birthday more often than my dad ever did,” Cody said.

Eliot chuckled. “Yeah, yeah. Listen, kid. Parker an’ Hardison an’ I, we’re buyin’ a new house so we can live all of us together with Rosie. Leaves me not knowin’ what to do with this place.”

“Uh huh,” Cody said slowly.

“I also can’t take the horses, yard’s too small. So, I got a proposition for you: I let you rent this house. You take care of the horses an’ the grounds, an’ in return you get this place for $200 a month. If you’re still here in three years, you get ownership of the horses an’ can keep ‘em or sell ‘em. Either way, I’ll still get you into the culinary school, or a good recommendation to any college you want.”

Cody stared at him. “Eliot, rent in this area is a thousand a month, minimum.”

“I know. You’re a good kid an’ you deserve a place to start your adult life right.”

“Th—thank you, Eliot. Yes, yes, please,” Cody stammered, a wide grin spreading across his face.

“There’s one more condition,” Eliot said.

“Anything,” Cody said.

Eliot grinned. “You hafta babysit Rosie sometimes. But we’ll pay you for that.”

Cody laughed. “Deal.”

They went back inside and Cody left, thanking Eliot again and again, even as he rode off on his bike.

Rosie was wandering through the house, and Eliot made a note to keep an eye on her until he could thoroughly childproof the house. There were a lot of weapons hidden around.

“Alright, punkin, should we get some dinner started before Hardison and Parker get here?”

“Yeah,” Rosie said.

She followed Eliot like a duckling into the kitchen and he pulled the fridge and cabinet doors open.

“Hmm.”

“What?”

“Do you think we should make burgers or nachos for dinner?”

“Nachos,” Rosie breathed.

“Nachos it is.”

Eliot had just gotten all of the ingredients together when the front door opened and Beate skittered to the door.

“Honey, we’re home,” Hardison called.

“In the kitchen,” Eliot called back.

Parker and Hardison entered the kitchen to find Eliot juggling three tomatoes and Rosie watching from where she sat on the counter, enraptured.

“Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to play with your food?” Hardison asked.

“Nope,” Eliot replied, his eyes on the tomatoes, but he caught the fruits and set them down anyway.

Parker held up a large bag. “We brought presents.”

Rosie slid off the counter and took the bag from Parker wordlessly.

“Now hold on, sweetheart,” Eliot said as Rosie made to dig through the bag. “Let them show you.”

Rosie stepped back immediately, looking like she was about to cry, and put her hands behind her back.

Eliot saw Parker’s face fall, and Hardison looked concerned.

Eliot stooped in front of Rosie. “It’s alright, punkin, you’re not in trouble. You don’t hafta hide your hands or stop bein’ excited.”

Rosie swayed side to side and didn’t look at any of them. She hummed a long note and pulled her hands out from behind her. She tentatively flapped her hands a couple of times, and Parker smiled.

“There you go,” Hardison encouraged.

Parker started flapping, too, and Rosie grinned and shut her eyes and flapped happily.

“Alright, punkin, you want your presents now?” Eliot asked.

Rosie nodded and Hardison picked up the bag. He dug around the bottom of the bag.

“I saw you playin’ with Eliot’s bracelets the other day,” Hardison said, then pulled out a small leather cuff with several braided strands. “So I got you your own just like his.”

Eliot smiled at him and he grinned. Hardison could be really sweet when he wanted to be.

Rosie had Parker help her fasten the cuff on and she admired it while Hardison dug around in the bag again.

“Then we got some new books in here, about science,” Hardison said.

“I picked those out,” Parker said.

Rosie bounced on her toes and grabbed at the books when Hardison handed them over and hummed as she examined them.

“And lastly,” Hardison said. “This present isn’t quite done but it has more than one use so she can start using it now and I’ll just add to it when the other part is done—”

“Hardison,” Eliot interrupted.

“Shoot, gimme a second,” Hardison griped. He pulled out a box and handed it to Rosie. “An iPad, so’s you can play games an’ all, but I’ve been working on a custom AAC app that I think works better than the ones out right now.”

Rosie looked up at Hardison in confusion even as she took the iPad box from him.

“AAC is a way of talkin’ without usin’ your mouth,” Hardison said.

“There’s picture boards, writing by hand, sign language, all kinds,” Parker added. “But with apps you click on pictures and it says out loud what you type.”

Rosie still looked confused, then wordlessly bent down, picked up the books at her feet, and left to go into the living room.

“I’ll explain it better when I load it to the app store,” Hardison said.

Eliot furrowed his brow. “What would y’all think about learning sign language?”

“Oooh,” Parker said. “I always wanted to.”

“I’m surprised you don’t already,” Hardison said.

“Me too,” Eliot agreed.

Parker shrugged. “I was always too busy learning new locks and security systems, and then calculus.”

“In high school?” Hardison clarified. “I woulda thought you’d’a known all the locks and security systems already.”

Parker scoffed. “You don’t learn calculus in high school, dummy, I was like ten.”

Eliot rolled his eyes. “Go set up her iPad, I’m makin’ dinner.”

“I’ll look at ASL classes,” Hardison volunteered. “For all four of us?”

Eliot marveled at the phrase ‘all four of us’ and nearly forgot to respond.

“Yeah, all four of us.”

* * *

The morning they dropped Rosalia off at her new school, Parker and Hardison sat at the bar at the brewpub, well before they opened for lunch. Eliot wiped at the same spot at the bar over and over, while Hardison stared into the cup of tea he was stirring and Parker poked at the uneaten half of her bagel.

“She’ll be alright there, right?” Hardison asked after a long moment.

Eliot sighed. “We can’t sit here an’ do this all day, we’ll go crazy. Go get work clothes on.”

“What are we stealing?” Parker asked, her voice far away.

“Not that kind of work clothes. Painting clothes,” Eliot said.

An hour later, they pulled up to the new house, cans of paint stacked in the back of Lucille along with tools, a new ceiling fan for the home office, a vacuum, and cleaning supplies.

“You ever get that profile of the neighbors done?” Eliot asked.

“Yeah,” Hardison drawled as he tapped at his laptop for a long moment. “Okay, here it is. Family to the north is all vanilla that I can tell—single mom, some old money, three kids and two dogs. Family to the south is normal except a teenager who got busted for taking weed to school and got kicked out of said school. Across the street is a banker whose husband has a gambling problem, but they seem harmless enough. Nothing really notable otherwise except the father of the house next to the stop sign—retired Navy SEAL, medical discharge. An’ the house behind us an’ to the south, the wife was busted on embezzlement charges an’ is doin’ fifteen. Husband an’ kids are still there.”

Eliot made a mental map of the potential troublemakers around them, then nodded and turned the van off.

After they carted all the supplies inside, they walked through the house again, pointing out extra projects they wanted to do. Eliot found himself grinning like an idiot in the kitchen, imagining baking Rosie’s birthday cake here next week.

When Hardison had made his to-do list, they claimed tasks. Parker grabbed up the exterior paint and rollers and dashed outside to haul the ladder off the roof of the van. Eliot grabbed the bag of fixtures and a screwdriver and went around the house replacing drawer pulls and light switch covers. Hardison pulled out several coils of wire and cabling and set up shop in the basement, starting the conversion to a smart house.

Rosie  _ would _ be okay, right? The four of them had met her teacher and paras the other day, and Parker had explained in great detail how they were to encourage her autonomy and allow her stimming and respect the ways she said “no” and the communication methods they were trying, and Mrs. Elstad seemed to fully understand and be on board. Then again, if the other kids were bullies, it didn’t matter how on board the teacher was.

At noon, a van pulled up outside the house and Eliot quickly finished repairing a broken hinge in the kitchen to oversee the installation of the new fridge and gas range. As the delivery guys carted in the stove, Eliot admired the absolute beaut he’d found deep in the restaurant equipment company’s catalogue. Rosie was gonna get a unicorn birthday cake with as many colors swirled into the sponge batter and as many layers as her little heart desired.

After the range and refrigerator were installed, Eliot painted Rosie’s bedroom and playroom a pretty lavender, pausing again at two to help another delivery crew unload and install the new washer, dryer, and dishwasher.

At three, with only half of the painting done, Eliot put down his roller and went downstairs. Hardison was sitting on the floor in the middle of a vast sea of cardboard boxes and plastic sleeves and bubble wrap, typing furiously on his laptop.

“Three o’clock,” Eliot said.

“Give me two minutes, I’ll meet you up there,” Hardison mumbled.

Eliot rolled his eyes and went back upstairs and out the front door.

“Park!” he called.

Parker suddenly dangled upside down three feet from him. “What?”

“First, don’t do that,” Eliot said. “Second, it’s three.”

“Cool,” she said, and effortlessly pulled herself back upright on the roof of the porch. Eliot heard a paint can getting its lid hammered back on and a moment later Parker dropped down into the bushes next to the porch.

Eliot scrubbed his hands clean of stray paint (Parker had somehow managed to avoid getting paint anywhere on her despite crawling all over the house she was painting) while he waited for Hardison. Finally, almost ten minutes and several urgings later, Hardison came up the stairs.

“Alright, let’s go, shoot,” Hardison mumbled as he fumbled for his house keys.

Five minutes later, in the parking lot of the school, Parker blurted out, “We’re not getting a minivan.”

“It just makes sense!” Eliot cried, throwing his hands up. This was just the latest instalment of this exact argument and Eliot was running out of ways to restate the exact same points again.

“They’re so dumb!” Parker exclaimed.

“You weren’t supposed to go full Dad Mode  _ this  _ quickly,” Hardison complained.

“They’re  _ practical,”  _ Eliot hollered. He heard his volume rising and took a slow, deliberate breath. “Listen. We have a kid now. Lots of stuff is gonna change. We don’t hafta get a minivan specifically, but none of us have cars that will work with Rosie’s car seat. My pickup is fine in a pinch, an’ so is your Mercedes,” he told Parker, “but Lucille doesn’t even have a backseat!”

“I can  _ put in  _ a backseat,” Hardison retorted. “I did all these mods myself, I can damn well add a backseat myself.”

“Stop, stop,” Parker said, holding up a hand in each of their faces. “What about an SUV? And we keep Lucille?”

Hardison hummed and rubbed his chin. “I could work with an SUV.”

Eliot shrugged. “Fine, an SUV.”

“Is school out yet?” Parker asked, the argument already behind her and out of her mind.

Eliot looked at the clock. “3:28,” he said. “Two minutes to the bell.”

At 3:30 they got out of the van, acutely aware of the other parents looking at the three of them strangely, and waited a little way from the front door as kids began streaming out of the elementary school, the sound of slamming locker doors filtering through the open front doors. They waited, scanning the crowds of tiny faces, for five minutes, and by the time the stream of kids turned into a trickle with no Rosie in sight, Eliot was worried.

“I’m sure she just got lost on her way to the front,” Hardison said, reading Eliot’s mind.

No sooner had he said that than Rosie, holding her teacher’s hand, came out with red-rimmed eyes and a wobbly bottom lip. 

Eliot expected the worst, but then he saw that Mrs. Elstad had a kind smile on her face, and he calmed down some.

“Hi,” Mrs. Elstad greeted.

“Hey punkin,” Eliot greeted gently, and Rosie let go of her teacher’s hand and ran into his arms.

“We got overwhelmed by the afterschool noise,” the teacher explained. “So if you’re okay with it, I think we’re going to have some quiet reading time for about ten minutes after the bell rings.”

“Good, smart,” Hardison said, stepping forward to take Rosie’s backpack from Mrs. Elstad.

“You did a great job today, Rosalia,” the teacher said, her smile widening.

“How was the rest of the day?” Eliot asked.

“We’re still learning the routine of the school day, but aside from the noise after school, she did great,” Mrs. Elstad assured him. “No tears, no injuries, and we have a new art project in her backpack.”

Eliot felt relief wash over him. Day one was always the hardest. She would be fine.

“That’s great, sweetheart,” Eliot said with a wide smile. “Sounds like a call for celebration.”

“Have a great evening,” Mrs. Elstad said. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Rosalia!”

They headed for the car, Rosie still sniffling.

Parker stopped in her tracks when they were almost to the van. “Hmm,” she hummed. “Ice cream, I think.”

“That sound good, Rosie?” Hardison asked, and she slowly nodded.

“Perfect,” Eliot said. “An’ then we got some work to do at the new house. You wanna help me paint your new room?”

Rosie thought carefully, then shook her head.

“I wanna read my new books,” she whispered.

Hardison laughed so loud he scared her.

* * *

At seven on Saturday morning, a few hours before they began moving into their new house, Eliot woke to the quiet sound of crying.

Still groggy, he padded out to the front room and found Beate slowly licking Rosie’s palm as she cried in her makeshift bed on the couch.

“Rosie, hey,” Eliot said gently. “What’s goin’ on, sweetheart?”

Rosie didn’t even look up, she just reached for Eliot. He sat at her feet and pulled her into his lap and she curled up in his arms.

“Can you tell me what’s wrong?” Eliot asked when she didn’t answer.

“I miss my dad,” she whispered after a long pause.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Eliot murmured, and rocked her gently.

In all his panic over her safety and disgust with Chase’s treatment of her, Eliot had forgotten the very basic fact of the matter: Chase was Rosie’s dad, the only parent she’d ever known, and he was dead. She was too little to process all that on her own, and he hadn’t been helping her do so.

“We all miss your daddy,” Eliot murmured, and it wasn’t a lie. Even as frustrated as he was with all the shit the Gillespies had had to wade through in the wake of his death, Eliot would give anything to see his baby brother alive again. Granted, he would try to knock some sense into Chase about a lot of things if he could, but at least this little girl would still have her father.

Eliot would be lying if he said he didn’t still have nightmares about the night Chase died.

“I miss my dad,” Rosie mumbled again.

“Me too, honey,” Eliot soothed. “Me too.”

* * *

“Should I invite Laurel June?” Eliot asked, already starting to scroll through his phone absentmindedly as he walked to the fridge.

“She settled in?” Hardison asked.

Eliot shrugged. “More or less. Got everything she needs, anyway, just unpackin’ now. I’m goin’ down there in the mornin’ to help her put the crib together.”

Hardison hummed. “Then nah. Give her time to settle in.”

Laurel June had arrived in Portland three days ago and into her new apartment, where she was about to start her new job as Lina Heller’s assistant. She had been two weeks too late for Rosie’s birthday, but made it up to her with a day-long outing to the last day of a carnival before it shuttered for the winter. Then, just yesterday, her divorce from Hunter had been finalized. Things were looking up for all of them.

“What movie are we watching anyway?” Parker asked suspiciously, poking her head out of the pantry.

_ “A Monster in Paris,”  _ Hardison said, hitting the popcorn button on the microwave.

“B-movie horror?” Eliot asked. 

“Animation,” Hardison corrected, and Eliot and Parker groaned.

“Babe,” Eliot groaned. “We got a six-year-old. We eat, breathe, an’ sleep animated movies. The one time we get to watch a movie just us grownups an’ we can’t watch something that’s PG-13 or higher?”

“Trust me,” Hardison retorted. He left the kitchen. “Bring the popcorn down when it’s done.”

Eliot and Parker scowled at each other, but collected their movie night snacks and hurried down the stairs to the basement, hoping they hadn’t woken up Rosie.

When they got into their basement briefing-room-by-day, family-room-by-night, they found Hardison sitting on the ottoman facing the sofa and looking nervous.

“What’d you do?” Eliot asked suspiciously.

“Nothin’,” Hardison griped. “Come sit down.”

Eliot and Parker shrugged at each other, deposited the snacks to either side of Hardison, and sat facing him on the sofa.

“So, uh, before we start the movie, I thought I would ask…” Hardison started, then seemed to lose his nerve. “…ask how y’all thought about redoin’ the flooring in the bathrooms, I think I hate what’s there right now.” He fidgeted and staunchly avoided looking at either of them.

“Hardison,” Parker warned lightly.

“What?” Hardison asked defensively.

Eliot decided to throw him a bone. “We can look at it, I guess, but I think what’s there now is fine.”

“Great, that’s settled, I’ll—alright, no, that’s not what I wanted to ask,” Hardison mumbled, shaking out his arms nervously and looking up at the ceiling. He let out a breath all at once and then looked back at his partners. “Sorry. Anxious.”

Parker rolled his eyes and looked at Eliot. “He’s trying to ask you to marry him platonically.”

Eliot blinked. “No he’s not,” he blurted. “He’s tryin’ to ask  _ you _ to marry him platonically.”

“Why would he marry  _ me? _ I’m aro,” Parker retorted. “He told me he was gonna ask  _ you.” _

“He told me—”

They both had the same realization at the same moment and turned very slowly to look at their partner sitting in front of them. Hardison had reached into his pocket and produced  _ three  _ white gold rings and held them in the palm of his hand.

“I may have fudged the truth a lil,” he admitted. “I was always gonna ask both of you.”

Eliot and Parker stared at him. “But you haven’t asked,” Eliot pointed out.

Hardison took a deep breath. “Will you both, and I mean this in the most platonic, for-tax-benefits way possible, marry me?”

Parker shrugged. “Yeah.”

“Sure,” Eliot replied.

Hardison looked almost angry. “You two are gonna be the death of me, shoot. Scared the hell outta me, all anxious an’ shit,” he muttered as he slid the rings on Eliot and Parker’s fingers, but he paused when he finished and grabbed their hands. He dropped the annoyed act and beamed at them, and Eliot couldn’t help but smile in response.

Then Hardison let go of their hands, got up, and wedged himself between them on the couch, forcing them to scoot over if they didn’t want him sitting on their laps. “Alright, let’s watch this movie,” Hardison said cheerily, pushing a button on his tiny remote.

“Dammit, Hardison,” Eliot griped, but his heart just wasn’t in it.

Half an hour later they heard footsteps on the stairs and Hardison paused the (frankly, pretty good) movie until Rosie made it all the way down the stairs, over to the couch, and had settled across all of their laps.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Eliot asked as he stroked Rosie’s hair. She shook her head.

“Alright, you can watch with us,” Hardison said. “But after the movie, bedtime.”

They only got five minutes farther into the movie before Rosie was out like a light.

* * *

“Hardison! Breakfast!” Eliot called out the kitchen door. He heard a thump from upstairs and rolled his eyes.

Parker sat at the kitchen island, her head propped up on both her hands and her eyes completely closed. Rosalia sat next to her in the middle seat, blinking blearily at Eliot as he put finishing touches on the pancakes.

By the time Eliot slid the last stack of pancakes off of the griddle, Hardison had trudged in and taken the third barstool at the island. He leaned heavily on his elbows and rubbed his eyes sleepily.

Eliot slathered Hardison’s pancakes with peanut butter and stacked bacon between the layers, then drizzled chocolate sauce on Rosie’s short stack with banana slices, and dropped a handful of mixed berries on Parker’s. He dusted all three plates with powdered sugar and passed them across the island, then sliced another banana for his own pancakes.

“Coffee?” Hardison asked groggily.

“Any and all drinks you’re responsible for yourself,” Eliot said.

Parker sat up, blinked her eyes open, and started eating mechanically, but after the first bite she hummed and seemed to perk up. Hardison grumbled and slid off the barstool, trudged to the coffeemaker, and poured a cup of coffee for himself and another for Parker.

“So, Rosie,” Eliot said. “We’re goin’ Chanukkah shopping today. You got ideas?”

Rosie nodded sleepily and tucked into her pancakes.

As Hardison, Rosie, and Parker ate, Eliot watched them, thinking that if someone told fourteen-year-old Danny that one day he would have two partners, a good relationship with Laurel June and Seth, and a daughter, he would have thought they were lying.

He had those things and more. He had stability, and forgiveness, and love, and though the sweet was tempered with bitterness, the sweetness was all the better for it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank yall SO much for being so patient with my weird uploading schedule, for dropping kudos and comments, and most importantly, for reading. this story has been close to my heart for almost four years and im really happy with how this rewrite turned out, and i hope yall like the rewrite even more than you did the original.   
subscribe to me if you want more leverage fics like this in your life, or fics for pacific rim, the adventure zone, or maybe the penumbra podcast. ive got some more sickfic and injuryfic up my sleeves for several fandoms, so watch this space!   
thanks again!


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